Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You should start taking your swords with you to work,” she mutters, and he just raises his eyebrow at her in return.

“I think that would make me more of a target than anything else. They should stay here. Like they have.”

“Take a dagger or something, then,” she says again, and he groans.

“You don’t take a weapon with you.”

“I work in the Middle Ring.”

“Fine, I’ll take a knife,” he lets go, and she sighs even though she’d known he would give in to her. He always does; that is how they live, now. “I won’t need it, Katara.”

She lets the silence fall and cover them like a blanket. It’s rather ironic, here, because his body still carries the vestiges of his legacy and runs hot all the time, like he has a fever. She dreads what would happen if he truly got sick, if she would burn when she’d touch him, if she’d have to use ice to cool him down.

“Better safe than sorry,” she snaps, letting some of the memories loose before shaking her head and staring into his eyes. “I . . . keep the teahouse safe. We need the revenue and they’re suspicious of you as it is . . .”

It works relatively well, the story they tell. It’s carved beautifully and it fits into the Lower Ring so well — sweethearts running away from war, a refugee from the colonies and another from the Northern Water Tribe, wanting nothing but peace and a place to raise a family. They came here to find jobs and a small but decent place to live, to make friends and survive together, to simply exist. Their tale is similar to thousands of others and right now that is saving them. It helps that it doesn’t always feel like a lie sometimes. Sometimes.

Still, Zuko’s scar makes the other inhabitants of the ring a little off-put. She thinks some might remember the wanted posters from their towns and just pay them no heed. Nobody wants trouble, here. Nobody wants the Dai Li to come or to be attacked by radicals. They have escaped war and they want peace. There is no war in Ba Sing Se.

And, furthermore, they are aware that the scar painting his face makes him a victim. The others in the building do, the ones who run the market stalls do, the visitors to the teashop do. 

She wonders when her life became this. It feels like this slipped into her being and became one with her, like she became this kind of person without realizing it. She’s still Katara but she’s also a wife and a resident of the Lower Ring and a refugee. It’s so strange. 

He just places his hand on her shoulder, seeing her blank stare for what it is and then pulling her into his chest. He smells like lychee nuts and jasmine. Funny, isn’t it, that the Fire Nation’s Crown Prince toils over a teapot for hours a day? She blinks against the fabric of his apron and then looks up to see the red outline of his face. His expression is contorted and angry, as usual. It always is. But his voice sounds calm and tight when he speaks. 

“The raids will stop, it’ll be fine, and the teashop is going great,” he consoles like he knows that he has to be the strong one. She knows exactly when they switched roles. He pauses. “Did you tell the ambassador —”

She was dreading this. “I don’t know, Zuko. He said that he can’t give me the job back. There are too many applicants.”

“You can’t work while . . .”

“I know. But I can’t quit. I shouldn’t. I can’t risk not getting it back.”

He lets out a groan of his old frustration and she silently chastises him and puts a hand on his arm. “I’ll do what I need to.”

“You are not going to work while pregnant, you’re not going to work after he’s born, and that’s final!”

Katara lurches away and stares into his face, the right side slowly turning the color of the left, his breath coming out in puffs of steam. She moves to the side and notices the curtain is ajar a little, looking out at the street below and the merchant’s shop in front of them. She closes it even if it’s threadbare. Nobody can see him like this. And then she stares him down until his breathing suddenly levels with the temperature of the air.

“I know you didn’t mean that,” she says pointedly. It’s another way they work. He clutches his head and falls back onto their couch. 

“I . . . I didn’t. I’m sorry. It won’t —”

“It’ll happen again. But next time I’ll kick your ass.”

She wonders how this would have worked in another world; perhaps one where they weren’t together just for convenience, where they didn’t get married just because they had to, where they’d sleep together because they love each other, where everything fit. Not this world and not the things she wants to escape. He huffs out again.

“Just quit.”

“We’ve had this conversation. You know I can’t. I shouldn’t. We’re going to need the extra money.”

“Work at the shop.”

“I thought we wanted to ‘diversify our income streams’,” she almost teases but it doesn’t come out that way, exactly, because they’re adults now and living now and this isn’t a joke. This is their reality. And they’re about to have an extra mouth to feed. Children are expensive. She knew this.

“Well, yes, but the shop is doing well enough right now and we’re going to need another server as it is. I can manage while you stay home and then you can go back to work full-time until you find something else. It’ll work. It will,” he says like he’s trying to convince himself.

She doesn’t want to agree but they’re stuck behind a rock and a hard place; an analogy that’s a little too apt. “Fine. But I’ll stay there for a few more weeks. We need all the extra income we can get. You’ll have to work overtime, anyway, I can help make the tea, at least —”

“I don’t know what the fumes will do,” he looks at her stomach. She’s ventured closer to him, standing right in front of him, and he’s facing the little bump. “I feel like . . . I don’t want you to inhale any herbs or something. I don’t want to risk anything.”

“It shouldn’t be an issue.”

“It might be after a month or two,” he points out before seeming to realize that he’s getting angry again and calming down. “You can help with the baking. I’ll bring some of the ingredients home.”

“Fine,” she mutters, sliding in next to him and putting her arms lightly around his prone form, moving his to touch their son again. “If you’re going to be out and serving you better carry a knife.”

“You’ll have to carry one when you come back.”

She looks at the closed curtains, at the three small rooms in their home. “We’ll have to bring him with us. I think that would be better than spending money . . .”

“Yes,” he murmurs. “I was thinking about that. I think that we could clear up one of Pao’s old storage closets. He had a lot of random things in those crates. I could work on building a playroom of some sort . . . we could watch him without leaving him here. It’s still a little too far away. We wouldn’t be able to hear him.”

She diverts and thinks. When she was younger she played with the younger children in the village, a chief’s daughter, and he had rooms and rooms of his own, young royalty. And now he’s going to build a room for his son in an old building’s closet. She’s appreciative, she is, but she does find it sort of hilarious before coming back to a reality that has his chin on her head. She can hear him thinking. “What would his playroom be like?” The ending is unspoken: otherwise. What did you expect?

His voice sounds almost distant. “A crib, you know, and a mobile above it with little dragons. There would be a fire in the hearth to ensure that he would have a connection with it. And then things he could chew on, small toys like stuffed animals.”

“I could make him one.”

“A stuffed animal?” he says against her head, and she nods. “Do you think you could make it a dragon? I . . . I want it to be somewhat . . .”

“I’ll make two,” she finalizes, understanding exactly what he means, “a dragon and a fish, I think. You’ll have to draw out a dragon for me. I’m not quite sure what one looks like.”

“I’m scared, Katara.”

“You don’t need to be,” she whispers. “We’ll be fine. We have our home and we have the shop and we’ll have him . . . we’ll be fine.”

“What if he’s a firebender?”

She closes her eyes, scrunches them together. “We have time.”

“I don’t want the past to come back.”

“It won’t.”

Chapter Text

“He’s starting to look more and more like me.”

“Yes,” Katara smiles and coos at her son’s face, her features lighting up when he giggles back. “I think the eyes are yours. Like the hair. And the face in general.”

More words lie unspoken. If Kazou’s skin wasn’t a bit darker than Zuko’s he wouldn’t look like Katara’s son at all. He is unmistakably a Fire Nation child and that is dangerous here. He sighs. “Let’s go home.”

The little closet that Kazou spends his day in, right in front of his father, has been cleaned and decorated with all the love his relatively poor parents can give him. Lanterns Katara crafted while she was bedridden are strewn across the ceiling, far enough away to ensure that he doesn’t get burned — his father lights them every evening when the sun stops streaming through the window. Neither of them are artistically gifted but Katara had still tried to paint a tree on the wall, a sun and moon shining above it. His crib is made of cardboard and boxes but built lovingly, and the two little stuffed animals he takes with him everywhere are always strewn somewhere on the floor. It’s everything that they can do for him.

Still, Zuko sees the love along with the cracks as they walk the minute or so to their small apartment and he locks them in. The dust in the corner that Katara, for whatever reason, can’t wash away. The clothes they buy second hand because he outgrows them too fast, the fraying of the children’s furniture he’s built himself.

They are doing good — both of them, and the teashop is doing good — but there are so many luxuries he took for granted his entire life that he no longer has. They’re good in that they can always eat and they’re always full but they still can’t spend money on whatever they want to. He should be happy with what he has. He has a family, a wife and a child he loves more than anything else, he has a job and he has decent savings for a second child, and maybe for university . . . he’s fine. He’s twenty years old but he feels like a child again, unable to control his life.

He wears aprons and cooks now, can only bend to heat up tea kettles, can only go through restrictive sword forms in the privacy of their small apartment. He stays quiet as he checks to ensure the door is closed before lighting up the lamp in the corner, illuminating his tired wife and small child. Kazou is much too awake right now.

Katara had gone to the market earlier and her finds are sitting on the counter. She transfers the baby to her husband’s warm arms and he crawls into the heat. It’s a silent dance; she makes dinner and he plays with his son for some time, tires him out so that he’ll sleep. 

He’s created his own games. He’s never been the best storyteller, that’s Katara, but he does know certain things to say. He lets that small smile he barely uses cross his face, sits down on the couch and checks that the curtains are drawn before setting a single finger aflame. 

“Come on, Kazou . . . no, no, you’re so close!” 

The baby lets out a toothy little grin as he reaches for the flame, his father continuously pulling it out of reach. Zuko can get lost in those wide, trusting eyes. He wonders if his father ever looked at him like that — he doubts it.

If there is one thing he wants to do in this life, now, it’s be a good father. There’s not much left for him and he’s starting from ground zero. He’s had his face burned, been exiled, and now he is hiding in the impenetrable city. He would do it all over again to ensure that his son doesn’t have to go through anything like it. For the little creature in his arms he would do anything.

Kazou’s excitement dims by the time Katara beckons them back to the tiny table they have in the kitchen, handing Zuko a bowl of stew and placing hers down on the table while she tries to force-feed her son bananas. He isn’t the biggest fan of solid food but he’s worn out and eats the slimy mush without squealing too much. 

Zuko swallows up the stew fast, the strangely spicy taste lingering on his tongue and he has to hide a smile. He knows she isn’t the biggest fan of the taste but she cooks with chillies for him. Katara . . . Katara and him have built something up here, together, something deep and intimate and alive. It’s a strange bond which settles into his bones. 

She looks frustrated as Kazou spits out a wad of his food, leaning down to pick it up and put it away. He places his bowl in their wash area and turns to hers — it’s stopped steaming — and places his hand on the bottom of it. He grabs the mush from her hand and gestures for her to take a seat, spinning the food towards his son. He refuses to eat it once more and Zuko sighs. “Are we done for today?”

“I think so,” Katara whispers back. She looks so tired and it hurts to see as she gets up and bends water from the pipes to clean their bowls. She reaches out a hand and Zuko quickly eats the remainder of the banana before handing it back to her. She turns up a nose at the display but he shrugs. It tastes relatively good.

“And bedtime for you, little one,” he presses his nose towards the child who looks half asleep, his golden eyes hazy as he blinks up. Zuko lifts him out of his makeshift chair and heads to the bedroom. The sound of water fades from the background and he can hear Katara following him. 

“I’ll change the diaper,” she says before he gives her a pointed look and she pouts at him. He just points at their bathroom and she leaves so that he can rinse his son. The task is a little gross but he truly doesn’t mind that much, and Kazou is changed and laid softly in his little cradle in the corner. There’s a small mobile wheel which hangs about it, crude glass fish and dragons strewn on it, and the baby gurgles a little at the colors bouncing off the lamp before he settles into sleep. 

Zuko stares for a minute at the peaceful look on his resting face before heading to the bathroom, kissing Katara on the head as he catches her moving out. She sticks out her tongue at him and he winks, closing the door behind him as she settles into their bed. He slides himself out of his work clothes and into a lighter pair of pants and brushes his teeth before staring at himself in the small mirror they’ve hung up. His scar is stark as ever against his skin and there’s a bag under his other eye. He’s happier than he ever thought he could be and he doesn’t have a throne.

She’s blown out the main light in the room and it’s fallen mostly dark with the exception of the small lamp that stays on his side, across from Kazou. He’ll blow it out when he’s sure the child is asleep. For now he turns around and slides his arm under Katara’s head. She fits snugly into him.

“Do you ever wonder . . . ?” she starts, and he knows. 

Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d won our game, if Aang was still somewhere to be found, if you were Fire Lord, if Azula wasn’t just a puppet on a throne, if this war was more than us? Do you ever wonder if we’d be together, if we’d have him, if he’d sleep on silk and be blessed and be the most pampered child in the world? Do you ever wonder if we’d be able to use our real names, be real people, exist like we used to? Do you ever wonder . . . ?

“Every damn day,” he whispers, and she nods against his throat. “I could give him more.”

“You’ve given him everything.”

“He’s still technically the heir to —”

And he tapers off to stare — they both do — at the Fire Nation’s true heir, a small child with skin that is almost water tribe, sitting in a cradle made of carved boxes, under a toy his father shaped with his secret bending.  

“This is better than that could ever be. You love him.”

“I would love him regardless.”

“I know.”

“We’re going to have to move. We can’t fit here if he grows up. And if . . .”

“We couldn’t fit two children in here.”

“We shouldn’t.”

He can’t see her but he thinks her eyes are shining. “Not right now. We shouldn’t.”

“One day we will. We can. We have this.”

“We have each other.”

“We have him,” he smiles, and then reaches out to play with a strand of her hair. “We’ll get a place with a better plumbing system. Where he can have his own room, too, and it can be close to a school.”

“Can we afford that?”

“Right now we can. The shop is doing very well and I’m gaining the shares back from Pao’s brother and sister and then we can keep everything and we’ll do well. We can get a house, I think. It’ll be small but if we do well after I get the shares back we can.”

She’s silent for a minute before he hears a soft sob and he lifts her up until she’s in his arms. There are tears on the surface of her eyes, bright as they are. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Okay.”

“Zuko,” she whispers, “we have everything we need.”

“We do,” he smiles. “Let’s sleep.”

Chapter Text

“Dad!” Kazou yells, “Dad!”

Katara can hear the exasperation hidden in Zuko’s tone as he takes his hand off her back and steps to the right to see a few circus performers twist and turn in the star’s light. The night is dark and she feels strong and compressed, a full moon shining above. But she can put the blood singing in her veins aside for a minute and watch her son gaze, enraptured, as two girls start flipping themselves into the air. Zuko stops next to Kazou and lifts him up on his shoulders so he can see better over the small gate which separates the onlookers from the acrobats. 

She should go to the other stalls, perhaps get food and find a place to sit with Zuya strapped to her chest, but she finds herself walking to them, standing behind the proceedings and lightly resting her head on Zuko’s shoulder. “They’re very good.”

He’s looking at one of them dance through a ring held into the air, loose hair flying, with a wistful look on his face. She wonders if he went to see the circus growing up in the Caldera — or perhaps when he was vacationing on Ember Island with his family. But for some reason she feels like the former Fire Lord wouldn’t have let his children enjoy such meaningless pastimes. Zuya starts shifting in her arms and she sighs. “She’s waking up.”

He looks to the side and gives her a soft smile. “Give her to me. I’ll warm her up.”

“You really think you can carry all of us?” she teases, and he lets loose a grin — he’s been freer with giving them out, lately, after the complications of her second pregnancy ended less than tragically.

“I always can.”

It’s a lot of weight but she transfers the white-wrapped bundle into his arm, careful to balance her against his chest as Kazou cheers for one of the performers from up above. When she’s sure they’re all comfortable she leans back into him, careful not to press too much of her weight onto his body and upset the image. She wishes someone could draw this moment.

“She’s backwards, Mom!” Kazou yells, and he leans down and uses one of his small fists to tug at her hair even though he already has her attention. Katara avoids looking at the presentation, again — the moving images are giving her something like motion sickness — and just strokes his leg. 

“I’m sure it’s very cool.”

“It is! Can I learn how to jump like that?”

“No,” Zuko says, “absolutely not. It’s dangerous.”

She shouldn’t, but she leans up to him and whispers in his ear anyway. “I’m very sure that you started your fancy fighting lessons at his age, hypocrite.”

He nudges her as best as he can. “I had large training rooms and many masters and I . . . you know. They were all disappointed in me. He won’t need to learn how to.”

“We shouldn’t talk —”

The fair is full of people. They’ve left everything behind and they’re not going to start again now. “He won’t ever need to,” Zuko repeats, and she runs a finger over his jawline and steps back a little. The performers are concluding and applause is roaring through the air.

“Mom! Dad!”

“Yes,” they reply together, and Kazou grabs both of their heads so they wince in tandem as well. 

“Why is the backwards lady looking at us?”

Zuko looks up before she does and starts to let Kazou off of his shoulders. Katara has the extra time to see the woman who’d been jumping through hoops look at her with large eyes and a round face. Her features are a little better defined and she is a little bit older like the two of them; her distinctive hair is now loose instead of in a braid and she is wearing a dark grey uniform. No wonder they did not recognize her as she was moving through the air . . . but it is Ty Lee. 

It’s been a long time and she is probably in hiding like them but that means nothing. Kazou is on the ground and Zuya is clutched close to Zuko’s chest. “We’re going to leave now, buddy. Okay?”

They’re already walking toward the exit as fast as they can without making a scene. They don’t get noticed. They’re allowed to be here because they don’t get noticed and the search for them has been exhausted.

Katara has grabbed her son’s hand but he tugs at it as she pulls him closer to her. “I want to see the rhinos!”

“We’ll come back next year, okay? But right now we really have to leave. It’s getting late.”

“But Mom . . .”

“Listen to your mother,” Zuko grits out in that angry way he sometimes does and Kazou falls silent. He needs to stop doing that. Kazou is still too young to know about good and evil but Zuko shouldn’t frighten him, shouldn’t use scare tactics — she’ll have to bring it up again. “We need to go home. We’ll be busy tomorrow.”

“I don’t have school —”

“What did your father just say?”

“Okay,” the little boy grumbles, his black hair flopping in front of his eyes as he follows their inertia. Both of his parents relax as they exit the overarching sign of the carnival even if they also both check that their daggers are still wrapped against their bodies. Just in case.

From there the walk home is only a few minutes — the newest house they’ve just bought, twice the size of their old apartment, has a larger kitchen and a bedroom for Kazou and a spare one for Zuya to eventually use. It isn’t in the middle of the city like their old dwelling was and it’s right next to a water-tower. It’s home.

Katara lets Kazou follow his father indoors before grabbing the keys from Zuko’s pocket and ensuring that the door is locked twice. Then she waits for Zuko to illuminate the lamps but . . . he doesn’t.

“Katara,” he says slowly, “take Kazou and Zuya to bed.”

“I’m not sleepy!”

She can’t see in the dark but she’s suspicious and she thinks she knows what’s happening. She reaches out a hand to grab her son’s and starts dragging him towards his room, stopping at Zuko’s familiar heat to pull her daughter into her arms. She closes the door when they get in, opening the top of his window to allow some of the full moonlight into the room. It illuminates a confused face. Zuya is still asleep in her arms. 

She wastes no time in leading Kazou over to his bed and removing the covers from the bedspread to let him crawl onto the sheets. He’s obedient enough that he does so, ignoring the fact that he hasn’t been forced to brush or change into his nightclothes. When she moves to put the blanket over him he groans and pulls away. “I’m hot.”

It’s a chilly night but she doesn’t want to think about what that means, so she lets him lie there and then gently sets his sister into his arms. “Take care of Zuya for a second, won’t you? She’s sleeping, just be careful. I know you can take care of her. You’re a good boy.”

“Mom? What’s happening?”

“Nothing, sweetie.”

“But why won’t Dad turn on the lights? Why did we have to leave? Why are you leaving Zuya here?”

“Nothing bad is happening. Just watch over your sister, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes. I just have to talk to Dad about some fancy adult things.”

“I can do fancy adult things.”

“I’m sure you can,” she teases, trying to inflect some humor into her tone, before sobering up further to kiss both of their heads. “I love you.”

Katara quietly lets the door shut on the way out. Light illuminates the living room and Zuko is still standing where she left him, staring at Ty Lee’s figure up against their locked door. The acrobat looks hardened, more than she was all those years ago. She remembers the Boiling Rock — they’re all running from their past.

“You two,” she says lightly, surprisingly, her tone still springy like it used to be, if a little bit lower-pitched. “I didn’t see that but I suppose it makes sense.”

“Why are you here?” Katara speaks up tightly, crossing her arms over her chest. Zuko still has his lips pressed together in a thin line, staring down the girl who used to be his friend, who ended a war on his side.

“I’m not looking for you, if that’s what you’re wondering. I just saw you in the crowd. Zuko’s scar is unmistakable, of course.”

“Are you —”

“You make cute children,” the young woman interrupts, still stuck in her own little world. Then she turns to Zuko. “I thought you were dead, Prince.”

The word sounds like it should be inflected like a curse but with Ty Lee’s bubbly tone it just sounds excited. Zuko growls.

“I’m not a Prince. I haven’t been in a long time. You need to leave, Ty Lee. We won’t give you any trouble.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” she says like she’s offended, “or your children.” Then she moves her head up to stare between both of them inquisitively. “Oh, you don’t think I’m still with them, do you?”

“Tell me, what are we supposed to think?”

“You’re not the only ones who ran away,” she shrugs, and she looks sad if such an emotion could even be assigned to her. “I’m not lying, I don’t want trouble. I just wanted to see a few familiar faces. Zuko . . .”

“I go by Lee, now,” he interrupts but she pays it no heed.

“I’ve never seen your aura so bright, you know. I’m glad that you’re happy.”

“I . . .”

“You should leave,” Katara repeats Zuko’s words, and she almost winces when Ty Lee looks hurt. 

“I just wanted to see you again. I’ve been hiding for so long because they don’t care very much about me — and my sisters protect me — and I think they’ve settled into believing that you’re dead, too — but it still feels like I’ve left everything behind.”

“Where’s Mai?” Zuko questions, and Katara wants to crawl up in a ball in the back of the room. They haven’t ever talked about Mai. She wonders how many regrets he can list right now. 

“Still locked in the Boiling Rock. She didn’t want to escape.”

“Zuko, she needs to —”

“I swear, I’m not here to do anything bad!”

She knows it. She sees the look in the other girl’s eyes every morning when she wakes up. “It’s not about you. It’s about our children. They’re safe.”

“I . . . I understand. But . . .”

“I run a tea shop,” Zuko brutally interrupts, and Katara gives him an understanding nod. “It’s very popular, you’ll know it. My name is Lee.”

“Okay. I was thinking . . .”

“There is no war in Ba Sing Se,” Katara slowly reminds the other woman and she nods resolutely, her brown waves bouncing. 

“I’m happy,” she repeats, “that you’re happy.”

Then she opens the door and disappears into the night. The keys are still on the counter.

Chapter Text

“Out,” Zuko says softly, and Kazou exhales as he does. Then he copies his father as he gets off the mat they’ve laid in their backyard, stretching his arms out above him. The sun is higher on the horizon now and that means that Katara and Zuya are both awake.

Zuko rolls up the mat and takes it inside, setting it up against the counter as he starts heating up the porridge they’ve kept in their little ice box, his hand steadily warming the pot up until it’s scalding. Kazou hops over to the bedroom — after meditation time they have bath time, and that’s always fun with his mom. She can make the water do weird things and Dad makes sure it’s always hot.

Zuya is wide awake and she toddles over to the kitchen to let her brother curl up with and wake up their mother. Katara usually operates on a late schedule; it’s still hard for her to get up with the sun.

He’s spooning out the mush into four bowls when his daughter comes up to him and tugs at his loose pants, mumbling something to him. He runs hot and the air is sharp — he and Kazou never mind the weather but the other two definitely do. He chuckles and leans over to close the door and the wind coming from it, letting his hand cool a little before sliding it through her curly hair. Then he slips the other one underneath her and moves her to the table, sliding a small bowl and a spoon along with her.

“I want bison!” 

“No bison today,” he laughs and traces her cheek, leaving the other two bowls on the counter as he grabs his own and sits across from her, staring pointedly at her spoon. “You have to eat yourself. You’re a big girl now.”

She crosses her eyes at him — just like her mother does — and he softens. “Okay, fine, you’re still my little girl. But you have to practice eating yourself.”

“Daddy!”

“Sorry, sweetie,” he responds as Katara grumbles her way inside. He can hear water pounding through the wall — Kazou is probably already in the bath. He lifts up an eyebrow at her. “No fun shower today?”

“I think I’m getting sick,” she says, and she looks the part, her under eyes darkened and a stray cough escaping her throat. Zuya looks up at her widely. 

“Mommy okay?”

“Mommy’s fine,” Katara weakly smiles as she takes her own breakfast from Zuko, shaking her head as she looks at him. Their daughter goes back to staring at the mush with a haughty look on her face that reminds him a little too much of Azula. She whispers into his ear. “Take him to Ty Lee’s place and school, won’t you? I’ll open up the shop. I need to sit down.”

He nods and places a hand over her forehead, sighing in relief when he sees her temperature, at least, is normal. Another thought comes to his mind and he glances at her with his eyes wide and she shakes her head in mirth.

“No, I can tell. Baby number three isn’t here.”

They haven’t talked about having another one. He isn’t completely sure if he wants one — perhaps he’ll let Agni decide this. 

Still, some part of him feels disappointed. He puts it aside and watches as Katara starts telling Zuya a story — about the Blue Spirit, no less — to convince her to eat her food.

“The Blue Spirit is big, and strong, and he rescued the girl from the pirates.”

“He did?”

She smirks up at him and he thinks about love as she continues. “And you know why he was able to do that? Because he ate a good breakfast that morning. If the Blue Spirit doesn’t eat breakfast he can’t save anyone.”

“I want to hear more about this girl,” Zuko teases and runs his hand over her head, checking her temperature again. He’s not the best at that because his own body runs so hot as it is.

“Was she a princess?” Zuya stammers out and Katara winces as she sees Zuko’s face darken. She’s told Zuya plenty of tales about kings and queens and princes and princesses but their children don’t know their own story. She’s been a princess twice over; something like one in the south and now she’s married to a man that won an Agni Kai and should be the Fire Lord. He might still be a prince. In her mind he’s still royalty — it’s in how he carries himself even if he no longer wears a gold crown.

“Every girl can be a princess,” she responds, and Zuya laughs because she doesn’t know how true that sentence is for her. “But princesses need to save themselves too. That’s why this princess got captured by the pirates. She didn’t eat breakfast. She got weak.”

That’s convincing enough for the girl to put her spoon in her mouth and they both look at each other in relief when Kazou comes out of the bathroom, his hair still wet. Katara lifts up a hand and the moisture disappears. He comes and gives her a hug in thanks.

They’re very careful about their bending. They don’t spend time with many others their own age around their children with the exception of Ty Lee so that they don’t let anything slip — Kazou has realized, by now, that Mom’s bending needs to stay hidden and Dad’s really needs to, and he doesn’t question them too much. The day that they’d realized that he, too, was a firebender . . . he’d accepted that he needed to keep the sparks coming out of his fingers at bay, even though that isn’t quite something he can really do. 

“Porridge?” he groans, and Zuko gives him a pointed look. He takes his own bowl off the side table. “It’s not hot enough.”

Katara rolls her eyes and he holds in a snicker. Their food is never hot enough — she doesn’t quite understand why both her boys feel the need to eat steam instead of rice but she doesn’t mind as long as they actually eat. “Try to heat it up.”

Kazou puts his hand next to the bowl and sparks fly; but his hand is covered by a splash of water almost immediately. “Not near the table,” his mother reminds him, and he nods sheepishly.

“More story,” Zuya says, and the rest of breakfast is filled with a completely fabricated tale about how the princess fell in love with the Blue Spirit, punctuated with small coughs. The kids eat it up but they both constantly exchange looks throughout the program. If only they’d met that way.

Katara washes the bowls quickly, as usual, and then cleans off Zuya’s hands before pulling her off the chair. She’s clearly weak and Zuko manages to grab her before his daughter falls into the floor. “Sorry,” Katara mutters, but it’s unneeded. He just kisses her on the cheek before placing Zuya into her arms and the keys from the counter into the pocket of her green dress.

“Hei will be there to open up and Suk will join in about an hour. Just sit near the pots, okay? I trust them.”

She answers by kissing him on the lips and Kazou on the head and slipping out the door. The boy looks confused. “But . . .”

“I’ll take you to school today.”

“Do we still . . . ?”

“Yes.”

He grabs the second pair of keys and his wallet and watch before opening the door and sliding them out. “What would Aunt Ty say if I told her you didn’t want to see her?”

“It’s not her,” the little boy groans. “I love her. I just don’t like the thing she has to do. I can control myself, Dad. The meditation is working!”

“I know,” he consoles as they walk through the streets, squeezing his son’s shoulder to remind him not to talk loudly. They still don’t want to be overheard. “We can stop in a little bit, okay?”

“You always say that!”

“I just want you to be safe, Kaz. You’ll understand someday.”

They’re standing in front of Ty Lee’s house and as usual they don’t even have to knock before she opens the door with a beam on her face, welcoming them in. It’s small and compact but she doesn’t need to stay here very often — she teaches dance to a collection of well-to-do girls in the upper rings. It’s more of a cover than anything else but it suits her, flowers covering its surface and colors as far as the eye can see.

Kazou and Zuya both love their Aunt Ty. The little girl and her share a strange bond already — Ty Lee has already started teaching her about pressure points even though Katara complains that she’s too young. The three of them both know that she doesn’t mean it; the children won’t ever need to fight but maybe they should learn how.

Kazou reaches up to hug her and she smiles before leading him to her couch — it’s sort of gaudy and reminds him of something Iroh would buy but he doesn’t want to think about that — and settling him down next to her. “Close your eyes, remember,” she instructs, and he listens even as he shakes. Zuko looks at them with his lips pursed in the corner where he’s loitering.

Ty Lee places her hands on his shoulder and touches him slowly and carefully where she needs to, and Zuko has to look away. He always hates seeing this. When she stops and both father and son open their eyes Kazou is groaning again. “I hate this.”

“I’m sorry,” Ty Lee says with a frown. It’s utterly genuine. “I think I hit it a little off. It might take a few more minutes to wear off.”

She goes to the kitchen and gets three glasses of water out for them, and Zuko takes it and drinks his while also putting the container in front of his son’s lips. Kazou lightly glares at him but he knows that he doesn’t mean it. You’ll learn that this is what’s best for you.

The two adults talk about their favorite kicking forms until Kazou can move his limbs again. He shakes himself out and heads straight towards the door but Ty Lee snaps her fingers. “Remember, Kaz. Try to bend.”

The boy opens his hand and a look of concentration appears on his face. They wait for one minute, one more. Nothing appears; no spark, no fire. Zuko nods resolutely at Ty Lee and they head out the door. Kazou looks downtrodden the entire way to his school and Zuko reaches for his shoulder. He lurches away.

“I’m sorry. I know.”

“Please, Dad,” he whispers. “Please. I want to be able to control it. I hate this. I hate this so much.”

The street is busy but he moves them to a corner. With the delay at Ty Lee’s place they’ll be late for school . . . but that’s fine. Zuko is better educated than most of those teachers, anyway. He can help play catch up. He leans over and catches his son’s shoulder and stares straight into his eyes. Kazou’s back straightens. 

“It feels like a part of you is gone, doesn’t it?”

He swallows and nods up, his shoes scuffing the dirt. Zuko straightens his chin out. “Be proud. You have power, Kaz, that’s why you can’t tell them.”

“I . . .”

“I only want what’s best for you.”

“I know.”

“Keep your head held high.” You are a prince. You are the heir to a throne. Have honor. I’ll love you regardless, but have it anyway.

“I know.” 

Chapter Text

“Hello, little ones. Are you helping out your mother today?”

Katara laughs ingeniunely at the vegetable lady’s attempt to start a conversation with her children, if not her. She and Zuko — or, well, Lee — are known as the couple who runs the unnamed family teashop, the popular one which attracts tourists from the upper rings. They’ve been running it since Pao’s untimely demise and they keep it well. And yet even living amongst the community of Ba Sing Se they keep to themselves.

Once upon a time this wouldn’t have been so strange, but it is now. The war that all these refugees see is gone and many are returning back home or giving up on the possibility altogether. There isn’t anything to hide anymore here. They’ve had conversations over this, deliberating if they should try to build relationships again, but they can never come up with a concrete step. 

Both Kazou and Zuya look up at the cabbage in her stall, suitably unimpressed. “Mommy doesn’t need help,” the little girl says, and the lady looks a little alarmed. Katara wants to cringe back.

“Oh, alright then! Here, I’ll slip in a few extra carrots for you all!”

After another strange exchange of smiles they’re on their way, Zuya having forgotten the interaction to observe the market around her while Kazou crosses his hands over his chest. “Carrots? Extra carrots? Do I look like an animal?”

“Kazou! She was being nice. It’s okay to be nice.”

“That was humiliating.”

Even Zuya looks up at that. Katara looks at him blankly and stops walking. “We don’t use language like that. That lady was trying to be nice to you. She was trying to talk to you!”

“Yeah, no wonder.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, Mom,” he sighs and starts walking ahead. Katara gapes as she stares at her son, his head held high. “You won’t get it.”

“Kazou! Come back here!”

The tea shop is just a few minutes away and he stays in front of her as long as he can despite the heavy purchases that he’s holding. Katara is still young but she’s weighed down by her distracted five-year-old and the aforementioned vegetables. Kazou is carrying some extra flour that she’d needed to make the next batch of pastries at the tea shop tomorrow morning. He lugs around the pounds, weighed down but still wanting to surpass his mother.

The back door is open and they escape through it. Zuko is next to the teapots, a black screen between the rest of the kitchen and himself, watching over several of them as they bubble. He’s grown rather good at this art. It’s a way for him to miss his uncle. He tells his children that the Dragon of the West was his father. 

He looks up as he sees his son walk in with a troubled look on his face and dump the sack of flour around the screen, once again resolutely standing in the corner as Katara wanders in a few seconds later, still holding Zuya by the arm. She lets the girl go and play with the sack before leaning against the counter, placing her goods down, and facing her son.

“What’s wrong?” she asks as Zuko frowns and adds in a spoonful of leaves to one of the pots. 

“Did something happen?”

“I don’t know. The vegetable lady gave us some free vegetables and tried to start a conversation with him and he got angry.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!”

“We’re not . . .” she trails off and motions for him to sit down on one of the cushions in the corner, stored there from when he used to stay here as a baby. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!”

“It certainly doesn’t look like nothing,” Zuko muses, and Katara gives him a side-glare. Kazou didn’t inherit these moody genes from her.

“I . . . just, we shouldn’t even be talking about this right now! Doesn’t Dad need to finish making the tea?”

Zuko looks at his son calculatingly, at the anger shimmering in his golden eyes, the way his hair is flopping, his fists clenched together. “Suk! Come here and finish up. I’ll pay you overtime but I have an emergency at home today.”

“Alright,” the bubbly man’s voice comes through the screen and Zuko takes the three teapots beside him off the fire that they’re supposed to be using to boil and grabs Kazou’s hand. Zuya clutches to her mother and Katara pulls her up.

“We’re going home?”

“Let’s talk this out,” he says in a tone that sounds serious enough that Kazou stays silent.

Zuya blinks at the two of them and tugs on Katara’s arm. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

“I know, sweetheart. We’re going home now.”

“Can we play princess?”

Zuko hates that game but she thinks it’s harmless. “Of course. After dinner.”

Appeased, she follows the rest of her family as they close the back door behind them and walk back to their house in the fading evening light, each holding a bit of produce. When they enter Katara moves to start dinner but Zuko doesn’t get up and start a flame, just leads Kazou to the couch. She looks at him pointedly but then realizes what he wants to do. 

The four of them settle down besides each other on their new item of furniture, large and gray and ever-so-different from the scratchy and ripped old thing that they’d had since they moved here. Zuya crawls up into Zuko’s lap while Kazou stays standing. 

“Right,” Katara purses her lips. “Now, why are you so angry about the carrots?”

“Is this an interrogation?”

Zuko flinches a little bit and she knows that he’s remembering how his father tried to remedy his attitude when he was barely older than his son. She bites back. “This is not an interrogation. It never is. We just —”

“Yeah, yeah. You just want what’s best for me.”

“Of course,” Zuko whispers.

Kazou stares at them for a few minutes, his gaze flitting between them both, when he puts his hand over his eyes and lets out a strange little growl. “That’s stupid! I don’t get it! I don’t get us. This doesn’t make any sense. You’re not doing what’s the best for me, you just want to stop me!”

“Kaz . . .”

“It doesn’t make any sense! Everyone else’s parents go out and do things but you never talk to people besides yourselves and Aunt Ty. Aren’t you sick of each other yet? Why don’t you talk to anyone? That’s not fair.”

“Kaz . . .”

“And then the bending. You still make Aunt Ty do that weird stuff to me that makes me feel empty even though you both know how bad we feel! And you know what, we talked about geography in school today. Waterbenders are from the North and firebenders are from the Fire Nation. There are none in Ba Sing Se. So why are you here? Why aren’t we in the Fire Nation where we’d fit in and I could bend and people wouldn’t get mad and scared —”

“Kaz!”

“I don’t get it, Dad!” he yells, but this time it just sounds like he’s sad. There are tears in the corner of his eyes and his mouth is trembling. “You always say that I have to hide because I have power. So why do we have to go here? Why can’t we go back to the Fire Nation, because that’s where you’re from, and bend like we can? Why do we have to hide? I feel so weak like —”

“Enough,” Zuko says, deadly and straightforward. “You do not know what you’re talking about. You do not understand. We cannot go back to the Fire Nation or the North. We are staying here, and that is final.”

His words are precise and yet not thought-through at the same time, and Katara flinches. The story they tell their children isn’t a story at all. They’ve just simply let Kazou’s assumptions so far count as the truth. They’re refugees from an Earth Kingdom village and they had to leave everyone behind and come here because of the war, and that is why they know no family anymore. He’d never before addressed their bending or their accents or the parts of them that are simply, intrinsically, not Earth Kingdom.

“So you’re not Earth Kingdom,” Kazou says, looking into his father’s eyes. Zuya is turned into Zuko’s chest, playing with the loose threads of his apron.

“We’re victims of the war like anyone else,” Katara speaks up after realizing her husband is planning to stay silent. “It’s not a story to tell, Kaz. The fact remains that you’re safe in Ba Sing Se. That’s what matters. There is no war in Ba Sing Se.”

“There’s no war at all.”

“That’s not true.”

“We just talked about it,” he grits. “The war is over and everyone lost. So why can’t we go home to your families?”

Before Katara can stop him Zuko lifts Zuya off of him and moves across the room to look into his son’s eyes. It’s a strange dance, a strange connection that the two of them share. “We have a lot more to lose.”

“I don’t belong here, Dad.”

“Neither do I,” he chuckles quietly, and Katara laughs a little even though she shouldn’t as her daughter looks up at her with wide eyes. “We fought in the war.”

She cringes once again but she supposes some of the truth would have had to come out eventually. Kazou’s eyes widen through his tears even though they’re letting up their rampage. “You did?”

“Do you want to see my swords?”

He’s succeeded in diverting the conversation. Katara lets out a wan smile at her husband’s back. “No sword practice until you go back and apologize to the vegetable lady. And you’re eating carrot stew for dinner.”

Kazou wanders into the bathroom to wash up and Zuya follows his path to go into her room, ostensibly to pull out her props for her princess fantasy. Zuko slides next to Katara on the couch and just puts his arms around her, his face resting on her neck. “I’m not doing good.”

“You’re better than your father ever was.”

“I don’t want to be better than him. I want to be good. I’m a failure of a father on top of everything else.”

“You’re not a failure at all.”

He doesn’t say anything but she thinks she hears him sniffle a little into her.

“I love you.”

“I know, Zuko.”

Chapter Text

“He’s already five minutes late,” Katara grumbles as she checks Zuko’s watch once again. He’d given it to her before she’d left, kissing her one last time to the disgust of their children. They don’t quite understand — the two of them haven’t spent a night without each other since the war ended. There are new demons to face now. They’ve developed a definite interdependence and sometimes they talk about how that might impact their feelings for each other; but at the end of the day they are together and that isn’t going to change and they only look back at the past to escape it.

Kazou isn’t listening to her at all. He’s tapping the surface of the dirty table they’re up again consistently, staring outside. She leans to see what he’s looking at. It’s a few boys his age lifting rocks and firebending at each other. She knows he feels wistful.

This visit to this Earth-Kingdom-slash-Fire-Nation colony wasn’t exactly on her to-do list. This is also a conversation they’ve had — whether or not they would ever go back. They’d decided resolutely on no when they’d had that discussion, almost seven years ago. 

She can categorize all of her conversations with Zuko into folders in her head. He’s her husband and her best friend and almost everyone she has because she can’t get it in her to trust Ty Lee with everything. After her first pregnancy they’ve spent the vast majority of their waking moments together. They work together, eat together, they sleep together. Sometimes she sees him just as an extension of herself, like a part of her.

Still, there had been an epidemic of some strange flu in one of the larger cities and all the major trade channels of the country had been blocked. They couldn’t quite afford being so low on tea so they’d had to brave the routes themselves. Ideally she and Zuko would have gone and left the kids with Ty Lee — she trusts the woman that much, just not with her inner thoughts — but even the other woman had noted that Zuko still wouldn’t be safe around benders who might recognize him, especially in a place habited by former soldiers. It’s not easy to forget his face.

And that landed her here, with her son, waiting for their tea shipment to come in so they can carry it back, physically, to Ba Sing Se. Her muscles are already aching and she just wants to leave but Kazou is entranced by the new world. He’d fought hard to be allowed on this trip and they couldn’t come up with a reason to not let him go. His points are valid, after all. He’s almost a teenager and he’s never left his home.

She remembers twelve-year-old Aang in an iceberg, also running away from the past. Kazou will never have those responsibilities but the small similarity grates on her nerves. He just sees her as his overprotective mother; he can’t quite understand why, exactly, she is this way. There’s another discussion that they need to have, that they’ve been putting off. When are they going to tell him?

The bell rings and the door of the pub opens. She looks up from her son to see a scraggly haired merchant walk in, carrying several loads of what she can already smell is tea. The other patrons of the shop start sniffing but she doesn’t mind, even feels comforted. It smells like Zuko, like home. 

Once upon a time he used to smell like singed fabric and smoke.

The exchange is rather boring. The man grunts and lays down the leaves and she carefully smells all of them and runs them through her fingers before taking out her coin purse and removing the gold she needs to. The man counts the coins out and shifts his eyes over Kazou before leaving. He doesn’t say a word.

And that’s fine. She reaches for his hand and he hears her unsaid words and starts collecting the tea into the sacks by his side. By the time they’re tied up the shop smells like jasmine and they’re being faced with plenty of rough looks. Attention is definitely something they want to avoid so they run out the door to their rented ostrich-horse.

She climbs up to the top and tightens the rope as Kazou hands her the bags, wincing a little as the animal bucks under the weight although she knows it can take it. When they’re settled in she reaches for a hand to pull him up but he doesn’t take it. Sighing, she peers over at what’s caught his attention.

It’s the boys again, the colony boys, all his age. Likely also children of the war. There are a few earthbenders and firebenders in the group and they are playing together. It’s acceptable here, in this strange city in-between. In Ba Sing Se such behavior would get guards called and a restraining order. The King doesn’t trust firebenders, even if he can only really control his own capitol.

“Can I . . .” he starts and looks up at her, his eyes gleaming in the light, looking pitiful. Both of his eyes, large and almost unassuming, remind her of Iroh and Azula more than anyone else. Why those two she’s not very sure; but she can’t always reconcile them with Zuko’s, partly because one of his is virtually blind. 

She should say no you can’t because she misses her husband and her daughter who are waiting for them and four days away and she doesn’t even want to waste seconds that they could be traveling. But she also feels terrible so she lets it be and slides off, starting to take the ropes off the horse so it can rest even more in the shade it's found, tying it to a tree. He gasps in surprise and reaches out to hug her before running off in the span of seconds.

It’s hot, warmer than usual, so she lets both her goods and her son remain in sight as she takes out her coin purse and walks over to a stand in the corner, some sort of open general shop in the village. Flyers and posters are stuck to the shop’s exterior. An old man sits at the entrance and looks up when he sees her approaching. He gets up and pulls down the store’s top so that she can stand in the shade.

She misses so much. This is a trade city, she thinks. She’s looking over the collection of dried foods when the man speaks up. “Ah, Water Tribe, aren’t you?”

It’s not exactly something she can deny with her blue eyes and dark skin. “Yes.”

He smiles at her in a comforting way, as if letting her know that he means no harm. It reminds her of Iroh. “Don’t get many of you around here.”

Katara feels like making bad decisions today. “Have you been hearing news about the tribes?”

He pauses. “Ah. You are here, then. That is your son?”

He gestures to Kazou and she looks to the side and sees that he’s already talking to the other boys, placing his attention on the firebenders. As she watches he moves his fist and a burst of fire comes out, lighter and stronger than all the rest. He’s a powerful bender, partly because he doesn’t do much else with his free time besides practice with his fire and his swords. It can be alarming. The teens looked shocked. The scene is green but it makes her think of another memory. She nods.

“Small reparations in the South. There was a meeting at the North a while ago, an issue of inheritance. Not good but better than the war.” That’s all she can ask for when the man narrows his gaze onto Kazou. “Is he a war child?”

“Yes,” she says, not quite realizing the implications of the statement until he nods at her sadly. It’s a safe assumption to think he’s a soldier’s child even if it grates on her heart. She supposes Zuko used to be a soldier. 

Not for the first time the utter hilarity of their situation finds a hold of her and she reigns in her laughter to smile at the man’s darkened face. “Would you happen to have any water tribe food? Dried?” 

He gives her another understanding glance before moving to the back of the store. “I’m sure I have some dried jerky in here. It might be a bit old —”

“That’s fine. How much?”

Jerky is southern meat, of course, and that reminds her of Sokka and she doesn’t really want to think about it. She’d heard that he and Suki had died the day of the invasion along with the rest.

“I have a few pounds,” he says and takes it out. She bites her lip and thinks about how much Zuko hates the smell of the stuff before reaching for her purse.

“I’ll take all of it.”

“All of — oh, of course.”

Besides savings for university — Zuko is adamant about both of his children having a professional education — they don’t have much to spend on. Several pounds of jerky won’t set them back any way but emotionally. 

As he carefully wraps up the jerky her eyes wander to his wall, stubbed with various decrees and posters from both the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation. There’s a pamphlet with Azula’s face on it and she wants to tear it off. The woman looks crazy even in a painting; she wonders just how much she’d regressed.

They don’t track news from the Fire Nation. It isn’t discussed very much in their small circle and it would bring too much attention to them if they asked for it. All she knows is that they’ve stopped their aggression and that is best. 

Zuko doesn’t ever say that he misses his home, but she knows that he does. He’d won the Agni Kai fairly and he should have been given his throne back, especially after news of his father’s death reached the palace. He’d seemed relieved when he’d heard the news but it’d soon warped into grief when they’d learned Aang, too, was nowhere to be found.

Somewhere inside of her Katara thinks he might be alive. But Ozai’s body had been found in the water and the airships had gone back to the Fire Nation after leaving the rest of their companions dead. They’d both fallen on top of each other in the courtyard when the generals had returned and fired on them, blowing up the palace.

The moments after that are hazy . . . being dropped off in the mess of the Lower Ring, telling Appa, distressed as he was, to go to the North Pole or the swamp or anywhere else. It wasn’t clear at all for the longest time.

Fire Lord Azula, the paper reads, and the jerky is slowly put in front of her as she’s allowed to lament in peace. The real Fire Lord is in a tea shop in Ba Sing Se, she thinks viciously. 

But she knows Azula isn’t looking for them; she surely would have sent agents after them and to the teashop. She remembers choppy hair and bright eyes and broken fire. It’s ironic that the girl is a failure of a Fire Lord, gone mad and sitting on a throne just to keep peace with the nation. It’s meaningless, having her there, but it’s the result of long-driven propaganda. The Fire Nation will not accept an oligarchy so she’s getting pulled by strings.

“Any news from the . . .”

“The usual,” he sighs as she grips her purchases. “The Fire Lord attempts to restart the war even if her ministers do not. The nation is not aging out of their . . . industrial complex very well.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” he says wisely. She moves to go but then hears the dirt ground scuffle beneath her. Kazou is by her side and he reaches out to grab half the load from her hands, beaming up at the man who chuckles at him. His legs are still steaming.

“It’s been long since I was able to play like that, son,” the merchant nods, and Kazou gives him a sheepish smile. 

“We should go, Mom, it’s getting late.”

“I know,” she reaches down to close her purse, “we can take out food from our rations. Let’s camp in . . .”

“Mom?”

“Yes?” she looks up and then wishes she hadn’t. He’s staring at the pamphlet with his forehead twisted.

“Who’s that?”

“The Fire Lord, young man,” he’s told.

“She looks . . .” he tilts his head. “Different. Sort of like Zuya.”

Yes, their face structures do match. It’s a hazard but in a way the Fire Lord is technically her sister-in-law . . . she doesn’t want to think about that much, but having your children look like their aunts and uncles is a risk. If only one of them had taken after Sokka.  

The man looks at Kazou, himself, like something strange has come across him. Then he reaches out to make eye contact with Katara and her suddenly pale face. 

Kazou grabs the remainder of the jerky from his mother and sets off to the ostrich-horse. When he’s just out of sight she moves to join him before feeling a light hand on her shoulder.

“Master Katara,” his low voice says, “I am Eun. The war is not over.”

Something slides into her palm and she doesn’t look at it until they’re both seated and searching for a place to camp. Kazou sparks a fire and she feels the object sear into her skin like a brand.  

It is, of course, a Pai Sho tile. 

Chapter Text

“He might be alive,” Katara says with an all-too hopeful look on her face, and he gapes at the tile before reaching out and reverently taking it out of her hands. She could have shown it to him earlier but that would have given away her optimism, something Zuko definitely doesn’t have.

“They’re . . . dead,” he whispers, and she just leans in close to him and closes her hand over his palm so that he can face her.

“We don’t know that. We never knew. We just assumed after . . .”

Piandao’s body in a river, half burned, a sword seared into his hand. Neither of them care very much for the imagery. She shakes it off and small tears fill her eyes, shining up at him and his woeful expression. “The war isn’t over.”

He pauses for a very long second before turning away and gazing over her head, into the open window which shows them the backyard. Kazou has been forced into a game of princess and he’s serving Zuya tea. They can’t hear what’s going on in the kitchen from here, not with how far away they are. He steps across and loosely, uncaringly, closes it before coming back to her. 

“Why do you sound so happy about that?”

It’s not what she’s expecting and she recoils back. “I . . .”

His voice sounds tight. “We don’t want a war. We’re not kids anymore and we don’t have anything to fight for.”

Katara doesn’t want to glare at him, she never does, but she pulls the tile out of his hand and presents it to him once again. “We have this to fight for!”

“The vague idea that the White Lotus might still exist?”

“Your uncle might still exist!”

“I don’t — if he was still alive he would have come here by now! He would have found me and us and all this. We’re hiding in plain sight, Katara. Anyone can find us if they truly want to. They just don’t.”

“So what? Do we just forget this?”

“What do you want to do? Tell Kuei to go back to war? There is no war to the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation anymore. The troops have all pulled out. It’s safe here.”

“So you’re fine with letting your nation fall apart?”

“Of course I’m not fine with it! But I’m not going to voluntarily go and fight again. We lost our childhoods and we lost everything to the war! I want peace. Katara, it’s been sixteen years. It’s over and we have children to think about.”

“I know.” She does. She doesn’t agree with the vast majority of what Zuko’s saying but he’s right on one account. They were raised in the middle of a war and they know exactly what the consequences of that are. 

“I don’t want to restart a war.”

“I know.”

“I want to stay here. I want to live like this.”

She bursts out. “So you want to keep serving tea? Spend the rest of your life getting more franchises open? That’s it?”

“It’s simple,” he breathes hard. “We live this out and then the kids go to university and it’s just fine. It’s just us.”

“You want to live the rest of this out with just us?”

“What — what does that mean?” and that’s a strange question and one that they usually don’t ask each other. They know each other so well but they don’t talk about the past. “Of course I do.”

“We can’t escape this forever.”

“Yes we can! It’s not about hope, Katara —”

“Oh, right, now I’m the little girl preaching overenthusiastically about hope like in that stupid little play —”

“Exactly! You’re not, that’s the problem. We have kids and responsibilities and we can’t leave this behind.”

“Never,” she shakes, “question what I would do for our kids.”

“I’m not doing that. I’m just reminding you that we already lived a lifetime over. We’re no longer sixteen-year old kids. We have spent more time together than we had before. Kazou is the same age I was when I was exiled, Katara. Can you imagine that happening to him? Can you imagine having to leave him and Zuya behind?”

“We owe something to the rest of the world.”

“Aang is dead.”

“We don’t know that.”

“He is,” he looks beseechingly at her, and that doesn’t quite match what he’s trying to say. “He’s gone, Katara. We don’t owe the world anything else. The four of us are all that matter.”

“Your uncle could still be alive. Aang could still be. Have hope —”

“Can’t you realize this? Aang did create peace in the world. He killed — he killed Ozai. The world has balance.”

“Azula is ruling the Fire Nation. There are no more Air Nomads. The world doesn’t have any balance. You know exactly how the Fire Nation is falling apart right now. Those are your people and they need our help —”

“No. This is our family and this is what matters. The rest of the world can go rot with the spirits, I don’t care.”

“I can’t believe you. I thought you cared about your —”

“Don’t say honor. I’m not the stupid prince in that little play, either. Real honor is family. It’s what Ozai never taught me and Uncle did. I have a duty to this family.”

“You do. I’m not saying that you need to throw us all away and start from scratch, Zuko! All I wanted to say was that there is a small chance that Iroh might be alive and we should find him. He’s your family too.”

He’s been fuming but that quiets him, and she takes the moment to continue.

“In every story you’ve told them so far you’ve said that he’s your father. You’ve told them about him teaching you about tea, and bending, and telling you stories about dragons. It’s not just about you distancing from your past. We owe it to them too. They deserve to know their grandfather.”

They’ve been standing but he weakens and falls into one of their table seats. She lets the tile drop onto the surface, blending into the hole caused by one of Kazou’s many firebending mishaps. He stares at it. 

“I’m sorry. I’m scared.”

“I know.”

“If there’s a war still out there it will find us. You know it will. And we’ll have to fight it.”

“I know.”

“I want to keep this. I want to stay here for as long as possible.”

“You like being Lee. I know.”

“Simpler expectations,” he whispers, “even though I can’t even be a great husband and father, barring being Fire Lord.”

“I can’t keep assuring you, Zuko. You’re a good father and a good husband. You are.”

“Katara?”

“What would have happened if we’d won?”

They’ve never had this conversation out loud before, but it’s existed between eyes. 

“As in, now. Where would we be, right now, if we’d won?”

“You’d be in the Fire Nation and I’d probably be at the South Pole,” she looks at the tile.

“You’d be married to Aang and have a bunch of little airbender babies.”

“Zuko . . .” They haven’t talked about Aang. She’d accepted, during the final battle, that she would probably end up with him. It made sense. But then the world had toppled over and she hadn’t thought about it at all anymore. “That doesn’t matter. What’s happening here matters.”

We don’t talk about the war.

“No, that matters. If . . .” he gestures to the tile and swallows, “if we’re going to talk about the war we need to talk about everything.”

And they have talked about everything but this. They talk about history and bending and how fire and water can intertwine, about brewing tea and finding tea and drinking tea, about the price of vegetables in the market. About the way she sometimes misses the cold and misses her mother and how much he hated the advisors and hated his father. They talk about before and they talk about after, but they don’t talk about this.

It hurts, more than anything, to open up her mind and remember Sokka as he was before she lost him, to see him staring at Suki and reaching out to Yue. Her father, pulling her into his arms so he could apologize. Toph’s quick wit and temper, and then Aang’s young humor and optimism and fear.

“I’m here with you now.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, though,” he complains. “Would we still be here, if not for everything that happened?”

“Half the people in this city wouldn’t be here if not for everything that happened.”

“Do you wish I was Aang?”

“What — Zuko. What . . . no, of course not. I thought I was going to end up with Aang when I was fourteen and he was the first boy besides Sokka I’d ever met! I was fourteen. I was young and I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You married me when you were sixteen. You didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh, you —” she shoves her hand over the table, right into his chest. “I had a choice. I’ve always had a choice. If I didn’t want to stay with you I would have run away with all my stupid hope and done something else! Tried to hope and find out that anyone else was alive. I stayed with you because I wanted to. I have never wished that you were Aang, Zuko! He was twelve. That’s Kazou’s age, you do realize that, right?”

He still looks a little unconvinced and yet shocked. “But . . .”

“No ‘but’s. Stop this! Stop being so insecure!”

“I’m not insecure!”

“Yes, you are! You’re being defensive and insecure right now. This is why we don’t talk about the war.”

“I . . .”

“Don’t you ever dare question me, Zuko. I would do anything for Kazou and Zuya. I don’t care about your alternate timelines and your what-could-have-beens. I love you and I love this family. It’s my everything. And I don’t want to start a war but I do want you to have hope. We don’t need to go searching for Iroh. We can stay right here and live the rest of our lives out here. But you need to choose to run away from the past and leave it behind. You aren’t.”

“Agni, Katara.”

“Don’t give me that.”

“I love you and I want you to be happy.”

“What do you want to hear? That I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life right now? That’s not so untrue, Zuko. Stop making sacrifices. This isn’t some make-believe world. It’s here and I love this just the way it is.”

“Love . . .”

“You know what? It doesn’t matter, whether or not we would have ended up together if this hadn’t happened. We can’t turn back time. This has happened and you’re the person I love and care about. I wake up with you every morning and I tell you everything and you’re the father of my children! So stop this and own up to yourself.”

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I . . . fine.”

She draws her hand away from his chest and turns away from him when he reaches out to kiss her on the lips so that he just touches her cheek. Then she grabs the tile and looks right into his eyes as she traipses to the other side of the room and drops it into the same vase which holds her mother’s necklace.

“We don’t have to think about this right now.”

“Okay.”

Out in the yard a little girl is playing with her dolls alone. That night, after both his parents are asleep, Kazou steps to the kitchen and slides the tile down his sleeve before tiptoeing back to his room.

Chapter Text

Kazou steels himself as he hears the end of his parent’s conversation from the living room. “Hiding in plain sight,” Dad says.

He tries to walk quietly towards them so that they continue their conversation — so that he might be able to overhear something — but his mom’s hearing picks up the sound. Dad is easy to mess with because he’s a little deaf in one ear, because of the scar, but Mom is perfectly healthy. He’s lucky that she doesn’t usually realize he’s listening in on them. He’s learned to be stealthy. 

He has so many questions. He has a plan that he’s been developing ever since he heard his parents talk about the war that one night, years ago, after he heard the words Aang and war and White Lotus. He wants them to tell him the truth about who he is and who they are and what war they fought and why they’re hiding because it doesn’t make much sense.

One way or the other he’s going to find out what they’re hiding. And that starts with approaching them and asking for answers he has a right to know. Evenings, after he finishes his homework and before dinner, are always family time. Sometimes they play board games and sometimes they tell stories together, usually ones with royalty for his sister.

His parents are sitting on the couch, leaning on each other as always, and Zuya is on the ground with her dolls. She’s getting a little too old for them but Mom can’t bear to take them away. He wants to glare at his sister for getting to listen in on his parent’s conversations, but he can’t really. She probably can’t comprehend what they’re saying anyway. He slides onto the mat next to her and dutifully holds up Dad’s doll, the one with the red scar.

His father reaches down to clasp his shoulder. “We can go with cards, or we can create a story together, or we can . . .”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we just talk today?”

“Of course,” Mom says, snuggling into Dad’s side. They’re so close to each other all the time that it’s sort of weird. Most couples don’t act like that, he thinks. At least not the ones he sees in school or the ones walking the streets. Mom and Dad always kiss and they always have hands on each other. It’s like they’re scared to let each other go. The only time he thinks they’d been away from each other for more than a few hours was when they went on that trip to get tea — and Mom made him sleep with her every night, like he could fill the void left by Dad. “What’s on your mind, Kaz?”

He has a plan. He’s memorized the plan. Start slow. “Uh, I like a girl!”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t like a girl. He doesn’t really care about girls. He’s fourteen and they can be nice but they’re usually just annoying. But he recalls his parents talking about some boy Mom was going to have airbending babies with (and that doesn’t even make any sense because the airbenders are gone) and being young and in love so he thinks this is as good of a start as any. It’s in the plan. Stick to the plan.

“Oh, you do?” Mom sounds so excited even if Dad is giving him a strange look. Dad looks scary at his best times — the scar tends to do that — but he’s still Dad. “What’s her name?”

“Sun?”

He really hopes he doesn’t sound as confused as he is. He probably should have thought of a name for his fake crush.

“Sounds nice,” Dad says, and Mom snuggles into him more. “Are you going to ask her out?”

No, no, wrong way. “I, uh, actually wanted to ask you guys about your relationship. Because you love each other a lot and you’ve stayed together for such a long time. How did you meet?”

Typically kids know how their parents met and fell in love but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know a lot of things. He knows a lot of bits and pieces that don’t really add up. He should know.

They’re both turning red, more than usual, and that’s telling. That’s how they look when they’re about to lie. They always lie. And they’re not even good at it. Nothing about his life makes sense and they keep throwing half-truths and platitudes at him. It’s like they think he’s stupid even though he’s not, at all. He thinks about the tile he keeps in his left pocket, a white flower that’s correlated with some man named Iroh. His grandfather and his father’s uncle? 

He’s old enough to understand them now. He’s written down all the tiny parts of the story they’ve told him and he’s going to figure it out. It’s not fair, at all, that he has to live out the rest of his life hiding his bending in stupid Ba Sing Se. He doesn’t even have any friends here. He’s going to find out the truth and he’s going to convince them to leave, to go to the colonies or the Fire Nation. Someplace where they can be themselves. 

“Well, we both ended up in the colonies,” Dad starts, and he already wants to put his head into his hands. Mom’s from a Water Tribe and you’re from the Fire Nation. I want to know how and why, Dad. How did you get there? “And your mom and her friends ended up coming to my town. I was injured in a raid and your mom came and healed me. And then we started talking and she decided to stay awhile. And then the Fire Nation came and we came to Ba Sing Se.”

“Why were you fighting against the Fire Nation if you were a firebender?”

“That’s a story for another time.”

“Really, Dad?” he lets slip, wishing he could take it back. He was going to go into this calm and collected. Calm. Plan. He has a stupid plan. “Please? I’m curious.”

Dad looks alarmed as Mom discreetly (well, they think they’re discreet) elbows him in the ribs. They trade eye contact and confirm his suspicions. “It’s really not a story to tell, Kaz.”

“Please, Dad? I’m a firebender, isn’t it important for me to know about my roots?”

“Well, yes, but . . .” he trails off. Kazou stays still and fights the smile trying to find its way onto his face, and ignores the betrayal slicing through his heart. He’s right. They’re lying. Mom is twisting the front of her hair around her fingers. She always does that when she tells the customers the lychee tea is completely authentic. 

For so long they’ve justified telling him about their past by saying that they just want what’s best for him. But the war has been over for eighteen years and there’s no reason that they haven’t gone back home. He wants to go back home. 

He hates Ba Sing Se. He hates hiding his firebending and he hates the way his name and his face are just so different from everyone else’s. He hates how he can’t make friends because his family is strange, how he just can’t be himself. If his parents truly cared about what was best for him they’d take him somewhere where he could be himself without fear.

“Your dad’s father was an imperialist who made your father leave home because he didn’t want to join the army.”

“I thought grandpa was nice. Didn’t he teach Dad about tea and dragons and stuff?”

Silence rings through the room and Mom looks horrified. He almost feels bad. 

“You mean my grandfather, love. My grandfather exiled me and my father because we didn’t want to join the army and hurt innocent people.”

That doesn’t sound believable at all. But he has momentum. Back to the plan, modified. “Is that how you got your scar?”

“Yes, I . . . I got it while I was fighting. Before your mom came.”

That would sound plausible to virtually anyone else. But Kazou knows his father. His father, who can breathe warmth and knows dozens of firebending forms, who meditates and can use two swords like they’re a part of his body. His father might be a liar but he’s a warrior and he’s good at it, and that burn isn’t something that happens when you let your guard down for a few seconds. It’s intense and large. It looks like a hand, like someone burned him on purpose. Like he let him.

“But let’s talk about this girl,” Mom lets go of the sober mood and smiles at him, Zuya’s doll still clutched loosely in his hand. His sister walks over to his parents and slides in between them, like he used to when he was little. Zuya is an easier child than he was. Zuya can’t bend. “Is she pretty?”

He only has to withstand a few more questions about his imaginary crush before his Dad takes pity on him and grabs Zuya, who starts complaining that she wants a fun story. Then they settle in for Mom to continue her tale about the Blue Spirit and the princess.

After dinner he crawls into bed and stares at the moon shining through his open window. He thinks about his parent’s faces as they told him their story, more plot points that just don’t seem to fit. Mom’s blunder about grandfather, Dad fighting the Fire Nation . . . he’s even more confused than he was when he started. He didn’t find answers to his all his questions.

But he’s able to conclude one thing; his parents are hiding something from him. And they might not have his best interests at heart. 

Chapter Text

Mom and Dad are going to be so mad.

The King’s guard, or whatever the crazy man calls the former soldiers who spread his message of ‘peace’ through Ba Sing Se, tug at his arms. He pulls back but they grip him tighter, fingers digging into his skin. 

“I’m a kid,” he calls out, and one of them grunts and puts his dirty hand over his mouth. He doesn’t even bother trying to take it off — he knows which battles to fight and he might be a strong bender but this guy is probably three times his size. He debates trying to reach out to one of his energy points, seeing if he can block him, but his ten-year-old sister is better at the art than he is. All the skin pressed against him looks the same, albeit disgusting. 

Kazou takes the moment to hazily look out at the streets next to him whirring by. They’re well-kept, green and hedged, and the houses he sees are far bigger than his own, maybe even larger than his school. The sun is beating from up above. They’re taking him to the Upper Ring. Damn it.

Of course he’d be caught the one time he firebended outside of the backyard. It wasn’t even noticeable! It was getting late and the alley was dark; he’d wanted to light it up so he didn’t slip and slide on the various pieces of garbage that litter his path home. The row is always empty at this time of day, as dusk slides into night. And yet the minute he’d held up his finger to the small torch in the corner he’d been jumped on by three men in dark green uniforms, all smelling like earth. And one had grumbled right into his ear: “Firebender.”

They way they’d grabbed him and tugged him along — he wishes he could prove them right, but they’ve kept his hands locked down and clasped. All the techniques he knows that he’s never been able to use, the combative kicking of bending and the soft skin of pressure points, are worthless as he’s tugged up.

His parents are going to kill him. They’ve come up with lie after lie and technique to hide him from the real world, but the only thing he’s really understood is their aversion to him firebending. There is no war in Ba Sing Se, but you still don’t firebend in Ba Sing Se. The King hates firebenders. The people hate firebenders. Firebending is destruction, he’s reminded in school. It’s evil.

Dad has always said that firebending is like everything else; it’s what you make of it. 

In the end that’s why he’s so powerful. It’s another way to think about it — that he should be proud of keeping his bending secretive, proud that they don’t want to see the flames on his fingers. They’re scared. When you scare people you have power.

Dad hadn’t said it in as many words, but he can draw conclusions. In the darkest recesses of his mind he thinks about burning down everything that’s ever hurt him. He won’t ever do it, of course. He understands right and wrong, understands that propaganda is propaganda, understands that nobody here will ever understand him. But it’s a nice thought to crawl up into, sometimes. The idea that he can send everything up in flames, all the schoolbooks that say he’s a demon, the halls in which he’s been limited. He could leave everything but a home standing.

His eyes flash for a second and he sees the large gate ahead of him which means that they’re about to cross the wall into the Upper Ring. He’s not quite sure what’s waiting for him there, but it probably involves something like a prison cell and an interrogation. 

He’s rather mad at himself. His parents have managed to hide their bending for years and they’re much stronger than him. Dad bends at home and at the shop but he’s never been caught, even with his scar making him a greater target than most. And the single time he lights a torch up away from home he gets captured? 

Kazou is already biting his tongue. They might have him, and who knows what they’re going to do to him — the kids at school used to joke about killing firebenders, how they all deserved to die — but he hopes that he’ll be given mercy and they’ll just kick him out. He’s not going to tell them anything about his family. He’ll die before giving them away. He might have gotten caught but Zuya and his parents are safe and they are going to stay that way. He would do anything for them. 

The gate passes above him and his muscles twitch and then he breathes in. Dad always talks about the breath of fire, about how all the energy in him comes from the inside. That might mean . . . 

The guard clutching his arm pulls away and swears, and he doesn’t quite know how to feel when he sees a red burn mark covering the brute’s hand. It won’t scar but he’s definitely too hot to handle right now. One hand . . . if he can heat up his legs he might be able to get free and actually fight.

But he takes too long to think and the fire just won’t spread through him. They’ve stopped tugging him, the guard on the left screaming something about payment, but the other one is quick to pull him taut once again, staying resolute as he tries to burn him. They yell something to the man in the front and suddenly he’s being restrained by earthen cuffs, tied to the dirt floor. The oaf holding his legs is apparently an earthbender, and they’ve decided that they’re going to rip up the Upper Ring’s carefully planned public streets to drag him to prison, or a palace, or whatever. 

He shrugs as much as he can. At least he’s causing trouble. And this position, demeaning as it is, is vastly more comfortable than being dragged roughly around. He can see and his vision isn’t blurry. The ring is dark now but the area is illuminated by lamps hanging outside of houses and near trees. A collection of young adults are walking home, probably university students, and they stop and stare at him, mouths hanging open.

It pisses him off, being stared at like he’s for show. That was humiliating. He wishes he could open his mouth and just breathe fire, show them that he’s not another kid being pulled to the palace. He’s dangerous and they should be scared of him. He doesn’t want to be one of them, another boring university kid, no matter how both Mom and Dad push him into school. He doesn’t want an Earth Kingdom education. He can fight with swords even if he can’t bend. He can join the military or something, learn how to be a swordmaster. Anything is better than being an illiterate academic. 

Rocks grate at his side and he almost winces and then realizes that his mouth’s been left free in this position. “Hey, stupids! Let me go! You can’t arrest a kid!”

The gigantic lumbering oafs keep walking without giving him a hint of acknowledgment. That sucks more than the bruises he’s definitely going to have when he wakes up. “I go to school, you know! You can’t put me in jail! I’m not sixteen yet! It’s illegal under the King’s decree.”

“Shut up,” he hears a thump and then there’s a rock mold over his eyes and that is uncomfortable. The idiots still haven’t covered his mouth, though. 

“You’re going to pay for this! I’ll report you and my parents will too.”

“We don’t work for your King,” the man to the side huffs as rock masks his mouth. He tries to heat his hand up a little but the warmth traps itself against him and gets unbearably hot, so he lets it go and feels his breathing even out. The band stifles him and he’s barely thinking about how absolutely screwed he is when his vision blacks out.

When Kazou wakes up he feels around for a few minutes before discerning that he is, in fact, in a cell, which means the earthbender guard and the others must have lied. The floor he’s lying on is cool, discernibly metal. That means this is an earthbender’s cage. 

That means it isn’t meant to hold him.

He starts groping around in the darkness, reaching his hands out towards the sloping walls when he realizes that he has the power to light up the room in his hands. He’s given himself away now, if not in the alley then when he burned the guard. And the man has the mark to prove it. He thinks back to that moment. He doesn’t have regrets. 

He keeps his hand open, trying to get the energy to create a small and controlled flame, and vows to himself that he’s going to get out of here. Sparks are forming in his palm when something clunks and brightness fills his vision. He looks down, spots in his vision, but his hand bursts into flame. That’s what he was missing; the sun. He’s never bended surrounded by pure darkness.

The light shines across the bottom of the door, metal reflecting and fueling him. Kazou’s eyes trail up and when he sees who’s standing there, dressed in Fire Nation clothing, he knits his brows together and the fire extinguishes.

The woman looks to be his mother’s age, hair in a bun and a five-pronged crown tossed carelessly on it. Her lips are dripping crimson and her eyes are sparking, burning a hole right into his. 

“What —” is all that escapes his lips, and he crawls back into the metal prison, ignoring his tingling nerves, the recognition that he feels staring at this woman’s face, the strange thud of his heart. 

“Hello, Kazou,” her lips curl, dangerously, and she reaches out a hand across the cell. “My name is Azula. It’s nice to meet you.”

Chapter Text

“You’re — you’re the Fire Lord.”

“Well, yes,” she raises an eyebrow. “Get out of this cell, come on. It’s absolutely horrendous in here. Smells like dirt.”

The Fire Lord? Why is she here? Kazou shakes his head and almost starts to traipse up anyway. It doesn’t matter who she is or what she wants with him. She’s left the door open and that means he can escape and run away from her. She looks slightly insane, her lipstick smudged and her smile feral. 

It doesn’t make any sense for the Fire Lord to be in Ba Sing Se. The King hates the Fire Nation and the Fire Lord should be in the Fire Nation, shouldn’t she? There’s no reason for her to be here and for her to have a cell. And why has he been dragged into this? Just because he was bending? Do all secret firebenders in Ba Sing Se get turned over to the Fire Lord?

We don’t work for your King, he recalls one of the guards saying, and his brow furrows. If they don’t work for the King then why did they put him into an earthbender’s prison? Who do they work for instead? The Fire Lord? But why would they work for her, and why do they want him, and . . . 

“Are you coming?” the woman says, and he realizes that she’s already gone. He scrambles up, his fingernails scraping against metal, and walks out the door into . . . a house. 

Pausing outside he turns around and sees that his metal cage wasn’t a prison cell, just a room plated with the stuff. There are no vents inside of it at all; it would have been easy to suffocate in, and that makes him shudder. The light hits his eyes but he’s grown accustomed to it and he can feel energy thrum through his body once again. The room he’s walked into looks upper-class, like it’s in the Upper Ring, but he knew that. There’s one window in the back but it’s covered with a curtain and the room is illuminated by an array of torches lit on the side. The sheer number of them almost makes it look like it’s on fire.

The walls are all a dull wood, painted over in generic Earth Kingdom green. It’s the floor which is covered by a rich crimson carpet, dragons threaded into it. There’s a set-up in the corner, right in front of him, a low-held table surrounded by various cushions. The Fire Lord — Azula — is sitting on the one facing him, a bored look on her face as she plays with her nails. They’re painted black and look sharp.

The room is empty, just the two of them, and he wonders briefly if he could take her on before coming to his senses and realizing that she’s the Fire Lord and he’s never had anything but basic training, never done anything that would bring attention to him. Firebending is an element built on physicality and although he’s done plenty of forms he’s never had the space to focus on execution. So when she points a finger toward him he slowly steps forward and slides down onto the bright blue pillow. He feels almost disoriented as he takes her in, and his neck hurts. He has no idea how long he was in that room and he thinks once again about his parents. What would they think? Dad ran away from the Fire Nation, for whatever reason, and now he’s sitting down with its ruler.

That’s still a little much for him to comprehend. He blinks and stays silent, looking just past her to where he can make out the brief indents in the wall which mean that there’s a door there. Can he surpass her?

“Don’t think about leaving. You’re not leaving until I let you.”

You’re going to let me leave. “Okay. Uh . . .” he doesn’t quite know what to do. “Please don’t tell my parents about this. I swear I won’t ever firebend again.”

She looks up from her nail to stare right at him, reclining back onto her cushion. He can’t tell if the look in her eyes is curious or just crazy. “Your parents . . .” she trails off.

“My parents aren’t benders, I swear! Neither is my sister. Please, kick me out, take me to the Fire Nation, whatever, but leave them alone,” he begs. That’s all he’s really concerned with right now.

Something looks like it’s dawning upon her. “Oh, don’t worry,” she starts in a tone that’s darkly cheerful. “If you cooperate nobody is going to get hurt!”

“Okay. I’ll cooperate.” He hopes that he’s included in that ‘nobody’. “What do you want from me? I don’t have any money.”

“Oh, nothing like that!”

She’s looking at her fingernails again. He squirms. The cushion cover is covered in strange stitching and it’s itching at his skin. “What do you want, then?”

“I want . . . to teach you,” she leans in and then falls back, putting her hands behind her mussed bun. One corner of her mouth is turned up as she looks at him. “Firebending, that is. I want you to be my pupil.”

“W—why?”

Maybe he should be overwhelmed right now; all he actually feels is his heart rate raging. It’s strange, how awfully calm he is in this probably dangerous situation. Teach me firebending? Why does the Fire Lord want to teach him firebending? How did she find him? Why is she in Ba Sing Se? 

He might have a head full of questions but he’s not in the position to get answers. She leans in closer to him, across the table, and reaches out like she’s about to touch his face before pulling away a little. She’s still closer than what’s appropriate, like she’s trying to act familiar. He looks at her heart-shaped face again, the gold of her eyes, and remembers that picture he’d seen on that pamphlet years ago. She looks so much like Zuya — but after all, the only person he actually knows from the Fire Nation is his father, and the similarity is probably just a coincidence.

Kazou isn’t quite sure what she’s looking for in his eyes but she doesn’t seem to find it. “You’re a powerful bender.”

“How —”

“I’ve been watching you, Kazou.”

She has that strange accent that Dad has when she says his name. Mom says it that way too but most of the people he surrounds himself with don’t. It’s not an Earth Kingdom way or an Earth Kingdom name, that ‘z’ sound. And even as her words sound disturbing he can’t help but be drawn in by that.

“I have a master,” he says and winces.

“And who would that be?”

She has him caught. He’s so good at making plans and working with them but this new situation is just overwhelming. “Um, nobody.”

He wonders who he’s trying to convince.

“I’ve been watching you,” she repeats, “and I know that you’re being held back here. I want to teach you how to firebend. How to really firebend. In ways that your traitor of a father can’t.”

“You know my father?”

“That’s not important. You haven’t been learning the way you should.”

Yes, it’s important. “I can bend fine,” he says, before letting his bitterness overtake him. “As well as I’ll ever need to.”

“Why are you in Ba Sing Se? A strong, young bender like you — you should be in the Fire Nation.”

She waits like she’s expecting an answer and he almost shouts back. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know and I don’t care and I don’t get why you’re here. Can you let me go back home now? My parents are going to be worried.”

Her demeanor so far hasn’t exactly been pleasant but she hasn’t been rude. That changes in a split second and suddenly she’s snarling at him, her eyes narrowed in front of his face, golden slits. “This is going to work rather simply, Kaz. I’m going to teach you firebending. I’m going to teach you how to create lightning. And you are going to call me Master.”

He’s breathing heavily and heating up. What is he supposed to say to that? This woman is crazy, she’s crazy, and he wants to say no but that would mean speaking up and — no. He tries to control his breathing and raises his chin up. “Why me?”

“You really don’t know?”

The inquisitiveness of that statement only pushes his brain into further turmoil. Yes, he wants to say, I really don’t know. “Why?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she wipes off something invisible from her shoulder. “All that matters is that you’re my new student. You’ll be coming here every other day and you’re going to train with me —”

“I can’t —”

“Oh, no,” she tuts. “You didn’t let me finish. You always let me finish. And if you decide you don’t like this little arrangement I’ll pay a little visit to your sister’s school. Zuya, isn’t it? And she can’t bend, I’ve heard. Reminds me of my brother.”

“Don’t go near —”

“Her,” she finishes, moving away and smiling casually at him again like she hadn’t just threatened his sister’s life. “I won’t! I won’t go near anyone. All you need to do is come here and not tell anyone.”

“I have school.”

“Blah, blah, Earth Kingdom school,” she flicks her fingers. “A few guards will solve that problem, I think. Your parents won’t know a thing.”

“Why are you doing this? Why me? Please, I haven’t done anything. I won’t. I’m nobody. I won’t tell anyone you’re here, just let me go —”

“You’re not the one negotiating here, Kaz. All I want is to teach you how to bend.”

“But why?” 

“Ah, unfortunately for you I am the one with the answers here and you’re going to have to find them. It’s really not that hard of a request, to be quite honest. You don’t have to go to that school that you hate, you learn how to actually bend, and you don’t get caught by the Earth Kingdom and disappoint your parents? Amazing, isn’t it? Everyone wins.” Yeah, no. You threatened to kidnap my sister.

“I don’t need your help. I can bend.”

“Right,” she tilts her face forward. “And where have you been bending, exactly? I haven’t had much reported to me.”

“You’ve been stalking me?”

“Well, not you. Intentionally. I suppose Agni answered my prayers.”

“You’re crazy,” he lets slip, and he doesn’t regret those words as much as he doesn’t regret burning that guard earlier. This isn’t quite the hill he wants to die on, but he doesn't think that Azula is going to kill him. She wants something from him.

The Fire Lord wants him as a student.

There are a lot of things wrong here: that they are in Ba Sing Se, that he doesn’t quite know where his parents fit into all of this, that he doesn’t want to hide anything from them, that he was just put in a cage, that he’s going to be grounded. And yet something small keeps niggling at the back of his mind, saying the Fire Lord called you a powerful bender and you should listen to her. You have power, don’t you? You have enough power that the Fire Lord is offering to train you. He wants to put it aside but he can’t because it’s ringing true.

“Sure,” she shrugs. “Whatever you want to believe. I don’t really care what you think. I just want you here tomorrow afternoon. I’ll manage your schoolteacher.”

“My parents . . .”

“I have eyes on you,” she whispers like that isn’t something he’s realized. “And if you tell them, or anyone, a single bit of what’s occurring, I’ll take your sister myself.”

Some part of him thinks he should tell his parents anyway, but then he thinks about how she’s been watching him, stalking him, how she knows his school and his house and how much he bends. Is that really something he wants to risk? No, he thinks about Zuya’s dolls and her princess stories. No, it’s not.

“Tonight . . .”

“I’ll send some guards back with you,” she says carelessly. “You got apprehended for a crime you didn’t commit, I don’t care, I’m sure you’re plenty good at scheming.”

Then she gets up and opens the door.

She’s letting him leave.

For some reason he hadn’t really thought that she was going to. This all feels like a fever dream, like it isn’t real at all. What’s happening? What just happened — what — 

He dazedly rises and steps forward, one foot in front of the other, continuously, moving and moving until he’s right next to her by the door. She’s wearing red armor and she’s looking at her nails again. He wonders if they’re weapons themselves with how sharp they are, briefly, before stepping out through it. If it was out in the open he would have made a run for it, but he’s just landed within a courtyard. She leads him through several other doors and complexes before he can finally see the streets in front of him.

“How am I . . .”

“Come to the gates in the morning and the guards will lead you here. It’s been absolutely great to see you, Kazou. It’s nice to see you take after the right side of your family.”

She ends with the same lilting hint of instability, and before he can question what she means she’s gone and there’s a guard standing in front of him, bowing to him, with a red handprint on his arm. He shakes his head like he can forget all of this before moving his foot forward towards home. 

Chapter Text

“It’s yellow.”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

She cocks her head toward him and lights up a single finger to show him her blue flame, then moves to contain it inside of her palm. “It’s better than red, like your father. But you need to get hotter. Fiercer. More composed.”

“Why does it matter? It’s just fire,” he complains. The sun is beating down at him from the courtyard and he’s tracing it apprehensively. The second it dips beneath the horizon his parents are going to get worried. He’s always home by dusk. He wishes he could tell them about this.

But he can’t. For so many reasons. Primarily Zuya’s safety, but also because of his curiosity. He doesn’t want to admit it aloud but he does want to train. He’s never been able to actually train and actually bend before, besides that one time he played with the boys in the colonies. He kicks up once again and a short burst of flame — still yellow — comes out of him. Azula rolls her eyes and closes her hand into a fist, walking up behind him. He shudders. It’s not comfortable to have someone that close to you, right in your blind spot.

“You have the potential to be great, Kaz,” he flinches at the nickname. It sounds like a curse coming out of her mouth. “You have the potential to be one of this world’s greatest firebenders. So here’s your first lesson —”

“I thought this was my first lesson.”

“No,” she sounds like she’s shifting herself up. They’re both the same height — like that’s a sort of equalizer — but he feels like she needs to convince herself she has the advantage in terms of physical appearance even though he isn’t exactly scrawny himself. “And what did I tell you about interrupting me?”

That sounds like a challenge so he just gulps and puts his feet down on the earth. She’s moved to his side — she’s circling him, like a bird about to eat its prey. “These are cursory things. As much as I’m loath to admit it, your father did teach you proper footwork for basic forms, if nothing else.”

She pauses so he takes that moment. “How do you know my father?”

“None of your concern. Let me continue —” he’s about to retort but bites his tongue.  “Your first lesson is on how to source your bending.”

“From within. From the breath.”

She’s stopped in front of him and he shudders as she flicks her fingers again and puts the dancing flames right in front of his face. The heat isn’t enough to make him sweat but it does little to vanquish the dragons swimming in his stomach. He chances looking out at the sky behind her once again. The sun is setting. “No.”

“Dad always said —”

“I don’t care what that traitor said.”

That night comes back to him; his parents saying that Dad and his father had been exiled from the Fire Nation for not being imperialistic enough. Perhaps that was the truth, although he isn’t quite sure why the relatively younger Fire Lord would care about that.

She’s staring at him again like she’s sizing him up. He hates how he sees her eyes in his mirror. He’d gone last night and just stared at his dresser, traced his features and wanted to hide from all the similarities he saw. It must be a Fire Nation thing. She apparently likes what she sees because she just steps back and taps one of her ridiculously long nails against her lips.

“You’re only going to be powerful enough when you channel your hatred. Yellow isn’t good enough. You need to concentrate your rage into your bending. I’m sure you’ll be able to grasp lightning.”

“You want . . . my bending to be blue?”

“You,” she starts, “have power, and you are going to channel it.”

“Uh . . . okay?” Dad says that true bending, true power, comes from the breath. “Why is your fire blue, anyway?”

Kazou isn’t allowed to ask questions — that’s the first thing Azula had said when he’d been escorted to her secretive house this morning. The guards who’d taken him had, strangely, treated him with respect. Almost like they were scared of him. He’s not quite sure if that had been because of Azula or because of what he’d done yesterday, but it had felt good for a split second before the weight of his decision crashed down on him again. His parents are both at the main teashop today, as usual, not knowing what he’s doing. He hates how trusting they can be sometimes. 

Blue brings up an image of Mom’s eyes, of Zuya’s, and he just wants to close his and make everything disappear. But Azula’s talking. “My flame is much hotter than most. I can create lightning rather easily, as well. I’m a strong bender. I was a prodigy, you know. I became a master when I was even younger than you. I’m sure you can do it too, now that you have proper instruction.”

So many questions are running through his head but he grasps the moment for one of the most pressing ones. “You can make lightning?”

Her fingers ignite again. He wants to run away from the flames. “You’re going to as well.”

“I didn’t know firebenders can . . .”

“Well, you wouldn’t know. Your . . . father could never do it,” she says sharply. “Only the most powerful benders can create lightning. You need to separate the energies in the air — I’ll show you in a bit. You need to channel yourself first and build up your rage. Only then will you be able to truly come into your own.”

The barb about Dad stings but he can’t help but grow intrigued. He knows he shouldn’t, knows vaguely that this is wrong, that rage doesn’t do anything. 

It’s like in Mom’s story. There’s the Blue Spirit and there’s a princess. And they both go on adventures together and save the world. But the Blue Spirit never hurts people. The Blue Spirit is a master strategist. He bides his time and frees prisoners and he and the princess help them. They stay calm and they don’t fight unless they really need to. They never get angry at anyone because there are two sides to most stories. People do bad things when they get caught up in their emotions, Dad likes to remind him. Nobody is ever right. And that’s why anger is never a solution.

But if channeling his emotions will make him stronger . . . Dad doesn’t do that and he’s strong and calm and composed and a good firebender. 

But Dad can’t create lightning. That’s something only the most powerful benders can do. That’s something that the Fire Lord, for whatever reason, thinks he can do. And he might be here under threat, trying to protect his family, but maybe he should branch out a little from what he knows. It would only be taking advantage of this situation.

“How do I do that?”

Her lips curl up again into that sneer-smirk he’s starting to realize is just rather characteristic. “What do you hate, Kaz?”

She phrases it so innocently but he thinks. What do you hate? 

The way he’s treated in class because his peers know where his eyes are from even if nobody says it aloud. The stupid merchants who think he’s the dirt on their shoes even though he could end them if he wanted to. Being talked at like he’s ignorant. The way his chi throbbed and wanted to escape him when Aunt Ty touched parts of him to disconnect him from what he is. The way he can’t be himself, the way his parents don’t want to go home and want him to live like this. He doesn’t hate them, he’ll never hate them, but sometimes he hates what they do. He hates how he doesn’t belong even though he could if they sucked up their pride.

He hates the world and he hates himself. He hates Ba Sing Se and he hates the Earth Kingdom.

The sun is dipping further but he barely realizes it as he coalesces all of those feelings, traps them in a little ball inside of his chest. It makes it hard for him to breathe but he ignores that, ignores Dad’s words. She’s right. He feels powerful, like he could destroy something with the mass of energy lobbed inside of him. “I hate a lot of things.”

“That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“How does it feel?” she’s right in front of him but he isn’t really looking at her. He twists his shoes further into the pavement and glares at the ground. “Look at me.”

When he doesn’t move she groans and reaches to pull his head up. “Look at me. How does it feel?”

He grits his teeth together. Good. It feels like I could do anything. Like I could burn down the entire Lower Ring, like I could show every stupid university kid that I’m better than them. It feels good but it really shouldn’t. Dad is the most powerful bender I know and he would hate this. But Dad can’t create lightning. I want to create lightning.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Let it go.”

No, you can’t. You can’t let it go, Kaz. Breathe, Kaz. Can you feel the sun on the horizon, feel how it makes a home inside of you? Feel that. We are conduits of this energy. Breathe, Kaz.

I hate this. I hate Ba Sing Se. I can have power. I want to have power.

The Blue Spirit and the princess escaped from the pirates and then ran away into the sunset. They don’t ever hurt anyone. They bide their time and they don’t give into their anger because they could hurt people. Most people don’t want to get hurt. People just want to live their lives and they do what they’re taught and the Blue Spirit and the princess know this. You know this, Kaz. Let’s go to bed now.

He sighs and exhales and lets it run past him, lets the hatred escape through his arms, doesn’t let it come out in heat. He can’t do it. He’s not . . . he’s not strong enough.

Azula turns her heel and glares at him before flipping a switch and returning back to her casually insane demeanor. “Some resistance was to be expected. I’ll see you here the day after next.”

The sky is almost dark. 

Chapter Text

He’s starting to think that Azula might be a little bit right about Dad. Yes, he’s a powerful bender, but there’s a reason that he can’t summon lightning, can’t create blue or even yellow flames. Dad isn’t like him or like her; Dad is impulsive. Mom knows this. Dad’s temper is legendary in their household and he’s always quick to take out his weapons on the street whenever something so much as makes a strange sound.

It’s rather contradictory to Azula, who, insane as she might be, is relatively unaffected all the time. She channels her emotions and doesn’t let them control her movements like Dad and Mom do. Perhaps that’s why she’s so powerful. 

Kazou shakes his head and lights up a finger underneath the counter he’s working on. The flame isn’t quite yellow anymore — it’s slowly turning white. Not blue, not yet. But he’s starting to realize that he wants it to be, just so he can feel what it’s like to hold all that heat. It’s only been a week and this is already hard to keep from his parents. Surprisingly, it’s not Dad who’s noticed the change in his bending, but Mom. But they’ve both noticed the change in his attitude. He’d thought he’d been doing a good job at hiding his conflict but they do know him well. Even if, as always, they can be a little too trusting.

He’s breathing roughly as he sets each of his fingers alight and tapers them off. He’s out of his father’s sight here where he’s supposed to be counting their inventory. He looks up and lets his mind wander as he counts. One Jasmine blend, another one here, peach green here . . . 

And along with them he’s thinking one two three four five, trying to channel his personality into one sliver of himself. Concentrate on your rage. Let everything else go. Your rage, your hatred, that is what will fuel your success. Your problem is that you’re refusing to let everything else go. Let the world go. Forget . . .

If he wants to truly be able to create raging fire, create lightning, he’s going to need to simplify his thought process, compartmentalize himself fully. Azula wants him to concentrate on hatred and let that overtake him but he’s scared that if he does that he won’t be able to come back to everything else he has. He can’t let go of his love for his family, can’t detach himself from that. And that’s holding him back, even as he values the attachment. His life is a conundrum. He doesn’t want to let go of them but he wants to find himself.

Dad is on the other side of the room, his fingers twirling around a pen as he carefully goes through their checkbooks. His strokes are elegant on parchment, his writing pristine. He thinks back to the imperial grandfather and figures that Dad probably had a rigid Fire Nation education before he and his father were exiled. He can’t imagine any of the boys in the colonies knowing how to write like that, so fluidly. Even if he’s swearing at some of the numbers.

“Kaz, are you done?” he hears and fists his hand together, letting the flames go out. The whitish-yellow isn’t something that Dad’s noticed, maybe because his eyesight isn’t that great. But his flames are definitely lighter and he’s scared Mom is going to ask him about it. He’ll come up with a plan on how to address her questions tonight. She’s not a firebender so she’ll probably just listen to whatever he says and take it as true. He hopes.

“Yeah. Do you need my help?”

“Come here, buddy. You remember the numbers?”

“Yeah,” Kazou steps over and leans on his dad’s shoulder, right next to the scar. He really doesn’t think much of it most of the time, but sometimes he does think about its sheer intensity and remembers his first jarring observation about it. Dad might not be as powerful as Azula and his flames might be red, but he can still fight, and he let someone give him that scar. 

Traitor, a lilting voice says inside of his head, and he shakes it off and starts rattling off numbers, waiting between the statements to make sure that they’re getting written down. 

“That’s the last one?”

“Yeah, uh, I think we’re good on sugar, too.”

“Okay,” his father finishes with a flourish and leaves the book open to dry, swiveling in his seat to face him. “That’s the end of that,” he winks. “It’s getting dark. We can stop and get dinner on the way home.”

He feels so guilty looking at his father so he puts his eyes down, avoiding making contact. “Doesn’t Mom have dinner ready?”

“No, remember? Today morning she said that she and Zuya are spending dinner with Aunt Ty. They want to have a girl’s night, whatever that means.”

“Oh,” he doesn’t remember that at all. He pulls back as Dad claps his shoulder and gets up, moving to the corner and taking off his apron. 

“Are you okay, Kaz?”

His heart stops beating and his fingers drum against his shirt. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Um, why do you . . . ask?”

He has to wait for Dad to grab his wallet from the corner and take his keys to close up the shop before he gets his answer. “You’ve just been a little distant lately. I thought it would be nice to just talk for a bit. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately, you know how this time of year gets.”

His eyes stay on the ground as they walk outside. It’s dark, mostly, but the street is illuminated by the lamps in the corner. “So, what do you want? We can get dumplings or . . .”

“Dumplings sound good. Can we go to that place Mom hates?”

That earns him a wink. “Of course. They should be open another few hours.”

Neither of them are ones to talk, but the silence as they make their way to the little place just a few blocks away from home is comforting. It’s always Mom who takes up the space they leave behind with her calming chatter, and then Zuya. 

They both fall into step and duck through the small door which leads into the restaurant. It’s relatively empty for whatever reason, so they slide into a booth in the far corner, where nobody will be able to overhear them. They’re prone to do that, to stay as far away from crowds as possible, and it makes the fire in his chest heat up a little bit more before he exhales out. 

They’re barely settled in when they get their orders taken, and he blurts out the first thing he sees before settling down uncomfortably in the booth. He definitely can’t bend here like he bent in the shop to release his anxiety. Dad is right here and he would definitely notice it. But there’s tension in the air that only he can feel, and he does sort of want to blow something up just to avoid this conversation. He doesn’t want to talk like everything’s normal when it’s clearly not.

He’s planned out how he’s going to walk around this with his family. He’s going to try to act as normal as possible, he’s going to avoid bending at all costs, and he’s not going to ask any questions. But of course they know something’s up. Hopefully they just think it’s him being moody and not that he’s been skipping school to study channeling his darkest emotions into creating lightning with the Fire Lord. 

“Seriously, is everything okay? You’ve been seeming so out of it. Have there been problems at school? Mom can go talk to —”

“No! Uh,” no please don’t do that don’t go to school, “school has been perfectly fine. It’s been great. I guess it’s just . . . hormones?”

“Hormones?”

“Yeah, um, I’m growing up and stuff and some days I get emotionally overwhelmed, I guess.”

He feels so guilty. Why is his father so gullible? The man is looking at him with an almost wistful look on his face. “The world can be a little overwhelming when you’re this age, Kaz. You’re not fighting in the war but that doesn’t mean anything is easier. But you can come to me whenever, okay? If you’re stressed about grades or girls or anything. I’m here for you.”

“I know, Dad.”

“Seriously,” he reaches out for them to clasp hands. “I mean that. You can tell me anything. I’m on your side, Kaz. I always will be.”

He’s saved from coming up with a heartfelt response to that by the waiter coming by and handing them their food. He puts a whole dumpling in his mouth while it’s still steaming, choking around the size and ignoring how it’s burning his throat. Dad chuckles and pushes his glass of water over to him. “Eat in bites. And remember, those are too hot for most people.”

“I know, I’m not five,” his words are supposed to come out teasingly but they scald, and Dad sighs and grabs his own chopsticks.

“You remind me of myself when I was your age. I felt like I had to be so independent, like my honor depended on me always being this outdated Fire Nation kind of strong.”

He swallows and shoves another one down his throat.

“It’s not a bad thing to ask for help, you know. It took me a long time to learn that I should have asked my father for help, and for me to realize that my decisions aren’t always for the best —” he holds up his hands when Kazou opens his mouth to retaliate. “I’m not saying you’re not perfectly capable of making your own decisions. You are. But it’s okay to learn that you don’t have to.”

I have to because you won’t let me make my own decisions. I have to figure out the truth and do it my own way. “That just sounds really cryptic.”

He laughs again. “It does, doesn’t it? Your mother would say that I sound just like my father. He used to tell me all these strange proverbs and sayings to try to convince me to follow my heart. All I’m saying is that you should remember you have a support system. And when you’re a teenager and the world gets rough, it’s totally fine to use it.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You’ll let me know if anything’s happening, right? You’re never alone.” Oh, all the spirits. He doesn’t want to lie. He hates lying.

“Yeah, Dad. I promise. Nothing’s up,” he takes a long drink of water and focuses intently on the dumplings he’s swallowing up. He’s been more hungry lately too — that happens when you spend hours training most afternoons. His mother’s only happy that he’s eating. That makes him think . . . “You know the story you guys tell us about the Blue Spirit?”

“Yes?”

“Where did you find out about the Blue Spirit from? And why . . . why the Blue Spirit? I’ve never heard about that in any of our books in school.”

“Oh,” Dad puts down his chopsticks. “The actual Blue Spirit was a character in a play. I saw it in the Fire Nation when I was young.”

“How does Mom know about it?”

“When we were your age and the war was going on there were a lot of prisoners . . .” is he imagining the wavering in that sentence? “There were a lot of people being held captive by the Fire Nation who shouldn’t have been. Someone dressed up as the Blue Spirit, wore the same mask from the play, and freed them. They were the Fire Nation’s most wanted for ages.”

“What about the princess?”

He narrows his eyes and takes another bite. “I think your mother made all of that up for Zuya. As far as I know, the Blue Spirit didn’t rescue any princesses. Curious about it?”

“I have to do a project for school and I wanted to see if I could use it.”

“You probably shouldn’t. He’s definitely a myth related to the Fire Nation. Don’t . . .”

“Don’t bring attention to us.”

“I’m sorry, but yes.”

“Dad? Are we going to be here forever?”

He stops eating and looks up. “What do you mean?”

“Are we ever going to leave Ba Sing Se? Go to the colonies or something? Or are we just going to be here forever?” He remembers a conversation and his mother’s insistence on hoping and his father’s insistence on staying here.

“We haven’t exactly thought about leaving. Do you really hate it here so much? I think it’s fine.”

He twists his chopsticks around, spearing the final dumpling. “I guess this, right now, is fine.”

Chapter Text

“You refuse to learn.”

“No, I — I’m trying, I swear I am —”

Azula crosses her hands over her chest and looks down at him condescendingly even if he’s a bit taller than her. “I have been here for a month and you have failed to show me any progress. Trying is never enough. Trying is failure,” she lowers her voice. “You’re a failure.”

The fire coming out of his hands is still yellow, still not good enough and definitely not powerful enough to appease Azula. She hasn’t even sparred with him yet because he isn’t good enough. He just does his katas time and time again and although his footwork is better and his flames are growing in size they aren’t changing at all besides. She says those are artificial improvements.

Being called a failure? That’s what truly burns. If he’s a failure of a firebender, if he can’t even do that, then he is nothing. He’s barely decent with one of his father’s swords and he can’t block chi — he’s worthless in a fight, no better than a civilian nonbender. He can’t be a failure here, too. Then he’ll end up taking over the family business not due to choice but because he has to and he can’t do that. He can’t. 

It’s just mid-afternoon and the sun is relentlessly beating down on the both of them, but while he’s covered in sweat Azula seems pristine and clean as usual on the other side of the courtyard, observing him. She’s a dedicated teacher, that’s something he must give her. She refuses to fight him but she models every form to him and constantly talks at him, trying to break his concentration — or perhaps inspire him? It does drive him, whatever her actual intent is. 

“I’m not a failure,” he growls, because maybe if he says it it’ll become true. That’s how Zuya feels about Mom’s stories, she’d told him once. That if she hears about the Blue Spirit and the princess enough times she might be able to bring them to life and she might be able to become the princess. He hadn’t wanted to destroy her happiness to tell her that’s not how the world works. But he can use that optimism, her sheer want to believe right now. “I’m not a failure.”

“It’s not worth training you if you’re not going to listen to me.” Her expression is indiscernible.

“I listen to you — I’ll listen more!” He falls to his knees in front of her, the sun hanging above them, now at its zenith.

He remembers why he originally came to her to train vaguely. But what he’s learned in the past month, the fire in his veins growing strong, unleashing itself through his movements — he can’t let that go now that he’s found it. Where is he supposed to practice, if not here? He’s in too deep and he can’t explain this to his father now, either. If she leaves him in the dust, she’ll leave him. But he’s not going to feel guilt for the rest of his life for no reason. If he’s being a terrible son by coming here he has to reap what benefits he can. And he wants to have power, he wants to have a blue flame, he wants it so badly.

“You’re not a failure,” Azula repeats slowly, her eyes blinking as she takes him in, the back of his head facing hers. “Why should I continue to waste my time with you? You, who refuses to do what I tell. You have listened to me tell you what you need to do. You need to become strong, collected, you need to channel your emotions. But you do not do anything. You’re weak. You’re held back by your attachments.”

“I’m not. I won’t be . . . I won’t. I’m not a failure.”

“You have a lot of pride, Kazou.”

Her steps sound against the courtyard grounds; he stays silent.

“You do. You have a lot of pride and you believe that you are worth quite a lot to me.”

“I’m powerful. I know it. You said it.” This is the part of him his parents wouldn’t approve of, the part which notes how the tenements are built and knows to stay away from the river. Mom and Dad believe in humility but they don’t know the world like he does. They chose to run away and he chose to run forward. “You say pride is a result of action.”

“You haven’t done anything worthy of such encompassing statements. Rise.”

He turns his head up, looks at her snarl, the sun rising beyond her like a halo. 

“If you want your pride, if you want me to train you? Fight for it.”

“Fight?” 

“You heard me. Rise and fight, Kazou. I don’t train failures.” There is a double meaning there, somewhere. He can tell by the way she says the words but he doesn’t know exactly what it is. But there’s a glint in her eye and it’s of something that’s power and yet cruelty, and he thinks about himself.

“I’ll fight you.”

“Oh, you will?” she raises an eyebrow and then moves back, cluttering against the ground. His heart is pounding in his chest. What did he just do? He can’t take on the Fire Lord in a fight. And she’s gearing up for a fight.

As she moves steps beyond him she shrugs off her outer layer until she’s in something resembling armor, adjusting her hair when it gets mussed in the process, the crown still attached to her head. Then she looks up at the sun and then back at him and moves into a combative stance, like she’s about to unleash her fist and her blue fury upon him.

He doesn’t want to fight her; not because he doesn’t mentally want to fight or because he’s averse to hurting her, but purely because this is apparently supposed to be a battle for his pride and he is definitely going to lose and he doesn’t want to take that to the heart either. This scene also feels final, like the way it’s going to end is going to irrevocably change something inside of him.

The Blue Spirit wouldn’t fight, Dad wouldn’t fight, Mom wouldn’t fight because there’s no point to this fight; no reason to it except to sooth the strange ball of fury in his chest. But he’s young and he thinks he’s allowed to do stupid and pointless things, and it’s not like he has to hold himself back. He wants her to train him and he wants her power but he doesn’t like the Fire Lord. She is a good teacher but she lacks decency; she threatened his sister, and even if he feels like she wouldn’t actually harm Zuya the fact still reverberates through his chest. 

He gets up and leans back, mirroring her pose, and moves out of the way when she launches her torrent at him, barely moving fast enough to avoid getting singed. He’s never fought Azula before, they never spar when they train. But he has observed her and he knows that she is light on her feet and quick to strike — sometimes too quick. 

He thinks about how he can use that against her as he jumps out of the way of another attack, aimed at his feet and meant to disrupt his form. It accomplishes its job as he loses his footwork, having to make do with pulling from his energy in midair. Breath, he thinks, and nothing happens, so he lurches out his fist and uses his building muscle to send her a bright yellow flame back. It doesn’t do much and she just jumps out of the way, but it’s his first offensive move.

She just rolls her eyes and almost relaxes as she sends out a series of fireballs toward him, all which he flips and jumps around, unable to find the ground again. He’s jumped over the last one, almost backed up to the walls which hold them in, when he realizes that she’s used his concentration on defense to move just a few feet away from him. A blast of fire comes towards his face, and it is searing hot; he holds up his hands to try to absorb the impact, and he knows that even if he won’t burn permanently the skin will be tender there for a while.

He can’t protect all parts of his body at once, and as she moves closer to place her hands in front of his eyes he gives up. He doesn’t want to die today. “I surrender.”

The flame she’s holding extinguishes and she steps back. “Usually, that’s not how one of these ends.”

“One of what? A fight? Don’t those usually end with someone dead?”

“An Agni Kai,” she rolls her eyes before she turns around and stalks back to where she’d shedded her outer layer. “It’s a sacred battle between two firebenders. It doesn’t end until someone is burned or killed.”

He swallows. “I didn’t know we were doing that.”

“I know,” she starts putting her bun back together, adjusting her crown. “And that is why I have not hurt you. Rest assured, you will not be so lucky next time you challenge me for your pride.”

Disappointment sinks into his bones. “Does that mean —”

“Are you going to just listen, Kaz?”

“I — no, no.”

“Then you need to do more than fight. Think about what you hate and then show me. And then we can talk about your pride and what you deserve.” She turns around and crosses her hands once again, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t move and she reaches out to him. “Now. Show me.”

“Now?”

“Rage might not work, so think about what you deserve. Pride, humiliation, I don’t care. It’s an intersection of everything you are. Narrow yourself down to these feelings and then show me. Send it to me.”

“Burn you?”

“You couldn’t actually burn me. But you hate me too, don’t you? Use that. Take everything and give it to me.”

“Fine.”

Fine. He can do that. The shame of hiding himself, the way he can’t be Fire Nation, stupid Ba Sing Se pedestrians, being treated just like a child, not being able to change his fire, betraying his parents and having nothing to show for it, failure. Failure failure failure. Are you a failure? Are you going to rot out the rest of your life here without even having a choice? You can’t hurt my sister and you can’t hurt my parents. They love me but love doesn’t matter right now. You’re keeping secrets from me. Everyone is keeping secrets from me.

He hates Azula, he does. He respects her but he hates her, for destroying his pride, for destroying him, and that is what he channels as an explosion of white cracks the stone underfoot, covering the Fire Lord in smoke. He isn’t surprised at all to see her standing when the dust settles down, playing with one of the strands of her hair which has come loose.

“Good. I’ll tell you what you want to know. What you need. The truth.”

“What — what —”

“You’ll see what I mean and you’ll stop that abysmal stutter. And you’ll call me Master from now on. Go.”

Chapter Text

“I have a brother.”

Kazou just shifts uncomfortably against the cushions, his fingers tapping on the teacup in front of him. He hasn’t drunk it yet — a part of him is still a little afraid that she might poison him — but he keeps reheating the cup. Dad would consider that a travesty but he thinks it all tastes the same. “Oh, cool. I have a sister. You know that, though. You threatened to hurt her,” he points out.

Azula rolls her eyes. “Well I haven’t, have I?”

“That’s not the point,” he says and leaves it there. Explaining basic morality to this woman isn’t something he wants to waste his time doing. “What happened to your brother? Did you kill him?” That sounds like something she would do.

“No,” she sighs wistfully before taking a sip of her own tea. “I did try but the idiot was stubborn. And now it’s too late.”

He focuses his eyes on the steam rising from the cup. “Is he younger than you?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re the Fire Lord and he’s not?”

“Oh, right. No, he’s older than me.”

“Then shouldn’t he be Fire Lord?”

She leans in and stares at him. “I should make you pay for your insolence.”

He’s also learned that the vast majority of her threats are empty. “You’re not going to. You like me,” he says with more assurance than he really feels. Azula is rather unpredictable but she understands the language of sheer confidence. Her lips stay still.

“I don’t like you. I just don’t hate you. But yes, technically he was the Crown Prince.”

“So? What happened?” he prompts when she tapers off. He’s not quite sure how this relates to him but she promised him answers and he’s going to grab them today. He’d wanted to go through his forms when he walked in but she’d insisted that he’d be able to properly channel his rage later.

“Well, there was a battle, you know. The war? My father the Phoenix King and the Avatar both battled. My father wanted to destroy the Earth Kingdom —”

“Good for him,” he murmurs, and her features twist wickedly.

“But they both died, you see. And while he was gone I was at home, about to be crowned Fire Lord, when my stupid brother — who’d defected from our nation to join the Avatar — challenged me to an Agni Kai —”

“One of those fire battles,” he nods understandingly. He doesn’t know much about the Avatar, just that he died at the end of the war and was a bit of a disappointment to the world. He hasn’t been reborn yet, probably because he was killed in the Avatar State. Such things are in the past and irrelevant to him. “You must have won?”

She smirks victoriously. “I did indeed, and I was crowned Fire Lord. I was more powerful than him, of course. I always have been. I was the prodigy in my family, you see, and he was barely a decent firebender. And he even brought someone with him — a girl — and they both couldn’t defeat me. It was a glorious victory,” then the fire in her eyes dims. “I would have continued the war, of course, but all the nobles and the generals came back to court and refused to let me do anything,” she glares at him. “You won’t tell this to anyone, you understand? It’s only necessary that I tell you.”

He’s confused but holds out his hands anyway, leaving the cup on the table. He needs to reheat it again. “Who am I supposed to tell?”

“Do you know about the divine right of monarchs, Kazou?”

“Something about the Earth King. I’m not sure exactly what.”

“Yes, well. What do you know about the governance of the Fire Nation?”

He blanks. “Uh, you’re in charge?” Then he scratches his head. “But I don’t really get why you’re here, then? Shouldn’t you be in the Fire Nation doing Fire Lord things?” This question has been at the back of his mind for a long time. 

“There is more to tell you, Kaz,” she intones. “But I want you to remember this. True power, the divine right to rule, is something you’re born with. My brother was an insult to the family name, but he still has our bloodline. Sozin’s bloodline.”

“Okay? I don’t get it. Is your brother still alive? You said he was, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why haven’t you killed him?” he asks and then winces. He doesn’t want to say the words so casually but they are in relation to Azula, and she’d announced her intentions earlier anyway. “I mean, if he’s threatening your throne I would have thought you’d have killed him by now. Do you not know where he is?”

“I know. I just can’t kill him. There are those who believe that it is he who deserves the throne, and having them know that he is alive is too dangerous for me. Additionally, he’s given me something that I need dearly.” She dramatically pauses again and he sighs and prompts.

“And that would be?”

“An heir.”

It’s silent in the room and he only gets more lost as he tries to connect the dots. “Okay. Divine right to rule. Bloodline. Heir? You can’t have kids?”

Azula turns red. She looks embarrassed, actually, and he would laugh had she been anyone else but he doesn’t want to lose any limbs or burn any body parts. “I do not wish to have any. And there are many in the Fire Nation who wish to usurp my throne. I came here because I needed to find my heir and secure my bloodline to suppress uprisings in my court.”

“Okay, fine, cool. Where do I come in, here? Are you training someone else? Do you want me to be an advisor or something?”

Incredulously, she taps on the side of her cup. “I wonder where you got these genes. You need to stay more astute.” Tap, tap, tap. “My brother’s name is Zuko.”

“Oh, that’s my dad’s name. It must be common in the Fire Nation.”

She looks pointedly at him, trying to sear a way into his soul, and as every second passes he hears her words reverberate through him once again. My brother’s name is Zuko. That’s my dad’s name. It’s something you’re born with. Sozin’s bloodline. He’s given me something I need dearly. 

It’s as if something in his head explodes, like he’s refusing to connect the dots, and when he flops back on the cushions it’s with raucous laughter. “This is hilarious. This is a pretty good trick, you know? I actually was kinda with you for the first half of that. Is this Fire Nation army recruitment or something?”

Azula stares, unblinking, and he keeps going. “Is that crown even real? Come on, my dad is a tea server. He serves tea and my mom bakes cakes all day. They’re not supposed to be here, fine. But this story is too much. They’re regular people. I’m not stupid enough to fall for this.”

She still hasn’t moved and he’s getting anxious. “Oh my spirits, you’re really crazy, aren’t you?”

Her lips curl back and he doesn’t notice. “How could you — this is insane, you’re crazy —”

The uncontrolled mirth shuts off as she shoots a ball of fire at him that he barely ducks. When he looks behind him he can see a dark mark on the wall, smoke still rising from the scorched wallpaper, ugly on the green wall. “Uh, I should probably go home. I don’t . . .”

“I’m not lying, Kaz. Would I ever lie to you?”

He lifts up an eyebrow at that and she frowns. “Your father, Zuko or Lee, whatever they call him, was the Fire Nation’s Prince for sixteen years. Of course there was his banishment and the fact that I would have inherited the throne anyway due to his baseline incompetency, but yes, you’re royalty.”

Kazou’s eyes still look like moons but he’s stopped laughing. He opens his mouth but she shushes him. “Speak later, let me finish before you run off. I’m trying to give you what you want. Your father and your mother, the waterbender, were the Avatar’s companions before he fell. They both went to face me while the rest of their little gang attempted to face off my father and his airships. They were lucky enough to make it out alive after I destroyed them. Frankly,” she twists her hair around her finger, “I thought they had more spine, thought they’d at least fight. But they just ran away here. And then hid in plain sight, too. It was too easy to find them. I would have killed him but I didn’t really care. He’s not a threat anymore and I guess he is my brother.”

Hiding in plain sight. They’re dead. We don’t want a war. So you’re fine with letting your nation fall apart? I want to stay here for as long as possible. I can’t even be a great husband and father, barring being Fire Lord.

Barring being Fire Lord.

He doesn’t quite know what to think. All the pieces fit together too well, everything makes sense. Mom and Dad aren’t from the colonies, Mom’s from a water tribe and Dad’s from the Fire Nation. Dad was the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation. The last airbender was the Avatar so they must have been talking about him. They’re hiding from the Fire Nation because Dad doesn’t want to involve himself in the war again. 

Why did they run away? Because they’d lost to Azula so now they’re hiding from her and she’d found them anyway. So even if they were trying to do what’s best for him it didn’t work. Were they even really hiding from her? 

Dad and Mom are grossly in love. Dad might have been able to go back to the Fire Nation — he just must not want to because he wants to waste his life away here with Mom, making tea and hiding his bending. Dad could be a Lord, he has the blood of dozens of generations of royalty in his veins, and yet he still chooses to stay in Ba Sing Se. Ba Sing Se, where he can’t be himself, where he can’t be himself. It doesn’t make any sense.

“I’m a prince?” he ends up choking up, and Azula nods. 

“You’ll be my heir.”

Heir, prince. And that ties the final string together — that’s why she’s training him, that’s the reason the Fire Lord is whiling away her time in Ba Sing Se with some merchant’s kid. Prince. Fire Prince Kazou, he tries, and it doesn’t quite sound right. Fire Princess Zuya, he thinks, and that makes the back of his throat convulse. Zuya would love this. Zuya’s a princess. They’re royalty and they live in a house in the Lower Ring of Ba Sing Se and they serve tea and bow to customers.

Shock is making its way back to form something like rage. He’s angry. Should he be angry? He doesn’t know. His parents want the best for him, they always do. Something smells terrible and when he looks down he sees that he’s inadvertently set one of the cushions on fire. When he doesn’t make a move to stop the red silk from burning to crisp Azula moves over and bats at it, still saying silent as he leans to the side with his face frozen. At some point his hand knocks over the teacup on the table and it falls the short distance to the floor, shattering. 

He could have been a prince. He’s a prince. He could have been raised in a palace, could have had anything he’d ever wanted. Instead his mother gave birth to him in a tenement. They tell stories and they love him but they’ve hurt him. What does this mean? His whole life is a lie and it’s worse than he ever could have imagined. 

Azula starts speaking in a low tone, her voice almost calming. “There’s a divine right to rule, Kaz. You and I are going to take back the Fire Nation.”

Go to the Fire Nation? Take back the Fire Nation? He wants to leave. Can he be a prince there, can Zuya be a princess? Can he bend and practice out in the open? Can he feel power, truly, let it crawl up his spine and pour down his throat?

“Take it back?” he questions hoarsely, because it’s a simple question and nothing else makes sense at all. 

“I’m telling you this in strict confidence because we’re a team and we’re going to work together like my father and I did. The sages and the nobles think I’m weak and they’re trying to overthrow me. They don’t know the truth — they think I’ve run away.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, I ran here,” she smirks, “to Ba Sing Se. You know, the last time I was in this city I captured it. Overthrew the leader of the Dai Li. Of course they took it back with that insidious White Lotus, but it’ll be mine again,” she leans in. “Doesn’t that sound nice? Taking over this city?”

No no no no. He brings his hand up to his chest, where a tile lays in his pocket. “I don’t want to take over anything. I’m not . . . you’re lying.”

“You know I’m not lying. You know.”

He does know but he doesn’t want to believe her because that means everything he has lived with for the past fifteen years is gone, and he can’t trust his family, and he can’t trust her . . . and it means he’s lost all of it. “Your father was Fire Lord Ozai.”

“The Phoenix King, he’d crowned himself, actually.”

He’s clutching at strings but he wants to think about anything except the future she’s outlining. “But my grandfather wasn’t . . . my grandfather taught Dad how to make tea and about dragons and —”

“Dragons?” she raises an eyebrow. “In the case of tea he must have told you about our infernal uncle, General Iroh. When Zuko was banished the crazy man went with him.”

“Dad was banished? Dad was . . . that doesn’t make any sense . . . Mom . . .”

“Oh, right. You’re half water tribe,” she groans. “Can’t tell that much though, so it’s fine. Thank Agni you’re a firebender. I’d thought you weren’t for a bit and got a little angry. My dear little brother only had one thing to do and at least he did that well.”

Kazou puts his hand down and stares at her. She snaps her fingers. “You!”

And that’s it. He turns away, stomach churning with betrayal and news and everything else, and staggers forwards a few steps until something which smells vaguely like tea erupts out of him. He hears Azula squeal; it’s the most feminine thing he thinks he’s ever heard from her mouth. 

“At least the burn covers that stench,” she hacks out. “You wanted the truth, Kaz. I’m giving it to you. I want you to assume your birthright.”

“I can’t . . . I can’t do anything. Mom and Dad . . .”

“Come on,” she cajoles. “What have they ever done for you?”

He remembers being pulled away from a circus, having his chi tapped into, his entire body rejecting the feeling of losing a part of him, his Dad’s sorry frown and reminder to stay strong because he is powerful and they’re afraid of him; words to calm a young boy, not to strike into the heart of a teenager, but he feels them nonetheless. 

“They can’t help you like I can. They don’t know you like I do.”

There’s an acidic taste in his mouth and he coughs and it only gets worse. Too much tea, he laughs to himself before doubling over and choking. They don’t know him like Azula does. They don’t know the plans, don’t know about the tiles, don’t know how he’s putting everything together. 

“We’re family, Kazou. And that’s why I’m telling you the truth. I’m telling it to you, aren’t I? They’re not. They were going to lie, keep on lying, and you would have lived your whole life like this. You’re powerful, like me, a prodigy, and you’re confining yourself. I want you to come back to the Fire Nation so you can take your throne.”

She’s his family and suddenly a lot of other things make sense; Dad’s temper and Mom’s healing, how they don’t mix and pull apart, how they’re both instinctive and not like him at all. He’s not like them. He’s special, he’s different, he can learn and he can be . . . he doesn’t want to hurt them. He loves them. He always will. But he wants to show them that they’re wrong. But a throne? Does he want a throne? What else does he have here?

His head hurts. It feels like it’s on fire, like it’s in the process of burning to a crisp, and he just clutches it with two hands and falls to the floor. She’s at his back and he knows that she isn’t going to walk toward him, isn’t going to step near the nasty stench of vomit the smoke can’t completely mask, so he turns around and bows his head. “M—master.”

 “We’re not training. Call me Aunt Azula.”

And that’s strange so he looks up to ask why and she shrugs with a devilish expression. “Call it poetic justice.”

He’s not quite sure what that means. He’s not quite sure what any of this means. But he doesn’t know how he’s going to go home and how he’s going to look his parents in the eyes tonight, doesn’t know what he’s going to do with all the rage inside of him. It’s exuding out of him, the fire, like he’s about to internally combust. He’s faced down again and he feels her put a hand on his shoulder before quickly removing it. His Earth Kingdom robe is smoking, flames crawling across his skin.

“Aunt,” he says.

She’s still wiping off her hand, pale pink, lightly burned. “Go out and practice your forms, Kazou,” she nods to the imprinted door which leads into the courtyard. “Stay as long as you need.”

One wall of the room is smoking and he’s surrounded by burning upholstery; vomit and teacup shards populate the floor at his feet. He runs outside. 

Chapter Text

“I don’t get it. Where could she have gone?”

Ty Lee shrugs. “Ember Island?”

Katara turns around on the other woman’s couch, her fingers tapping her chin. “And you’re absolutely sure?”

“I’m sure she’s gone and that they’re trying to keep it quiet. It’s been a while, too.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense. Azula has done everything to be Fire Lord and she has everything she’s ever wanted — why would she leave?” She pauses and picks up her plate, moving over to Ty Lee’s sink to wash it, ignoring the hands which try to take it from her. “You’ve grown up with her. What do you think?”

“Honestly I’m not very sure. I don’t think Azula left the Fire Nation at all after the war. Unless . . .” she pauses poignantly and waits till Katara looks at her. “Unless she’s trying to find you?”

“She thinks we’re dead.”

“Are you so sure of that?”

She puts the plate down and places her hands on her hips. “We were attacked by a bunch of airships and when we disappeared all that was left was ash. She can’t know we’re alive. She would have killed us by now. We’re not exactly hiding in a novel place. She knows about the shop.”

“She could know,” Ty Lee points out. “It’s not like she’s welcome in Ba Sing Se, exactly. And maybe she doesn’t want to kill you.”

Katara frowns. “Why would you think that? Remember the multiple times she tried to murder us when she was . . . Kaz’s age?” She shakes her head at the disturbing thought. “Wow, something was seriously wrong with her.”

“I don’t know anything. But just . . . the way Azula thinks . . . it’s evil,” she shudders.

“Yeah, I can get behind that,” Katara grumbles before quickly making sure her hands are clear of grime and reaching out to hug Ty Lee. “Thanks for dinner, it was a fun night.”

“Of course. You want to take some home for Zuko and Kaz?”

She doesn’t have it in her to admit that Ty Lee burned all of her vegetables and she thinks that the two boys might actually like the taste of char, so she shrugs and accepts the bowl she’s handed before sliding out the door and into the cooling night.

The way back home is familiar and she chooses to forgo thoughts of Azula to reflect on how content she feels right now, for the most part. It’s late enough that Zuya will be put to bed when she arrives, and Kaz will be completing the last of his homework. She frowns at that and thinks about how he keeps bringing less and less work home — she should go to his school and talk with his principal, ask why the load has decreased. She knows that Zuko is a little concerned as well but can’t go and check; his face is still noteworthy and she knows that Kazou already gets a lot of flack for his eyes and skin.

Katara’s not quite sure what Kaz does locked in his room all day. He’s more tired than usual lately and he’s eating more too. Some part of her is a little suspicious, but then she remembers Sokka and his ability to consume his body weight in meat and decides that this just must be some of his water tribe traits kicking in. And that’s good because sometimes she feels like he doesn’t understand her culture at all. If they’re going to come clean to him soon he should be able to acknowledge that part of him as well. There's something else, too, in the back of her mind, but it's escaping her right now.

Something sounds behind her as she turns the corner to their house and she jumps up and puts her hand protectively over her waterskin, pausing to see if anything else reverberates through the air. When she senses nothing she starts walking again, her hand still curled protectively around the skin. She raps on the door hard when she arrives and slides in when Zuko opens it, placing the bowl on the counter. “There was a —” she starts before seeing the terrified look in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Kaz isn’t back.”

“W—what? It’s nighttime. He’s always back by —”

“By dusk. I know, I know. I took Zuya and went to his school when a few hours passed but he wasn’t there, the teacher said that he left on time, and I have no idea where he could —”

“Is Zuya . . .”

“She’s sleeping. She was concerned too but she . . . she went to sleep. Do you think . . .”

The last time Kaz had come back late, a few weeks ago, he’d been captured by some rough Earth Kingdom policemen. Luckily it had been for a crime he hadn’t committed and he’d come back relatively unscathed, if sore. He’s always sore, these days, even if he doesn’t complain about the aches. She can recognize them and ascribes them to puberty.

“No,” he shakes his head. “He can’t . . . you know what, we should go to —”

“The jail in the Upper Ring?”

“Yeah. I’ll go get my swords, take another waterskin —”

Somebody starts slamming on the door and they both freeze mid-walk. Katara moves to answer the door when the insistent noise begins again, rhythmically sounding, as her hand still hovers above her waterskin. She’s ready to unleash a torrent on whoever’s outside when she pulls open the door to see — her son.

“Kaz!” she almost yells, and the door pounds close and she pulls him forward into her arms, taking in his warm body and the fact that he’s fine. Then she pulls him back and reaches out a hand to ensure the door is closed. “Where were you? You can’t just — what happened?”

He looks sullen — more than usual — and his green clothing is charred in places, parts of it falling off. A bruise covers one half of his face and she hears someone inhale in shock. For a second she thinks it’s her but when it’s followed up with a “Did you bend?” she knows it isn’t.

Kazou pulls away from her and stumbles back, falling against the door. He looks tired and glassy eyed and stares across her shoulder, at Zuko. “I didn’t bend,” he hisses. “I got into . . . a street fight. They threw torches at me.”

The bruise surrounding his left eye is purple and yellow and it makes her shudder. It almost looks like Zuko’s scar but she can heal it, so she moves her hands back to her water once again and coats her fingers before raising them to his face. He dips out of the way.

“What are you doing? Come here and let me —”

“I don’t want you to heal me!” He’s still looking beyond her, frowning at Zuko with a strange look in his eyes, and she’s a little pissed.

“Your pride isn’t a way to justify a bruise this nasty, just let me —”

“No, Mom? Okay?”

Katara lets the water fall to the floor and steps back, her heart pounding. His words are incensed and angry and they don’t sit well in her stomach. “Who were you fighting?”

“Uh, nobody.”

“Are you really going to tell us that?” Zuko says before she can, and Kaz groans and throws his hands up into the air.

“I don’t know! They were nobodies who just saw me walking back from school and tried to attack me. You know, they probably did it because I didn’t look Earth Kingdom,” he hisses, and Katara blinks.

“And that’s why you’re home hours late?”

“They were — they were in the area. I wanted to make sure that they weren’t there when I left.”

She’s about to tell him off about this exchange once more but then takes in the weariness in his posture and the colors still encompassing his cheek. It’s not like she was guilty of anything less at fourteen. They can talk about this in the morning. “Fine. Let me heal it, Kaz, please.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Your mother knows what she’s talking about,” Zuko interjects, and Kazou glares at him before stepping further to the side, edging his way over to the kitchen. She moves back and lets her husband come up next to her. “You don’t have to hurt for no reason, Kaz. Come on.”

Katara takes in her son’s appearance once again. His long hair is mussed and falling over his face, his eyes are shuttering between glassy and vicious, and his clothes are crumbling in on themselves. The sleeves of his shirt have turned black and ashy — like they've been burned, steadily, not just had flames briefly cover them. She shakes her head to get rid of those suspicious thoughts and holds out a hand to him once again, tries to pretend it doesn’t hurt when he moves further away. He’s scooted across the wall, halfway to the hallway which leads to his room. 

“Just let — I’m fine. They didn’t even do this to me. I ran into a pillar on the way here.”

That story makes sense so she lets it go but Zuko doesn’t. “So what does it matter if you heal it?”

“I don’t want to, Dad? Can’t you understand that? Can’t you have, like . . . respect for me? Let me make my own decisions?”

“I’m your father. It’s also my job to ensure that you don’t do stupid things. I only ever want what’s —”

“You only ever want what’s best for me,” Kaz repeats, almost mockingly. “I get it. You think I’m stupid. I’m not.”

Before Katara can get in a word edgeways he’s sprinted down the hall and they can hear his door slam behind him. When she looks to her shoulder Zuko is frowning; he steps over and puts his head on her hair. “That was strange. I’ll go and —”

“Let me handle this one,” she tells him before pushing him away lightly and giving him a wane smile. “He seems a little mad at you.”

“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay. I’m going . . . to get into bed. Make sure he’s okay, alright? Tell him that I love him and we can talk through all of this together.”

She just nods and leans up to kiss his scarred cheek and watches him put Ty Lee’s bowl of vegetables in their ice-box. After a few minutes pass she tiptoes through the hallway and knocks on his door; when she hears nothing but a muffled grunt she chooses to interpret it as an invitation and barges inside.

Kaz is lying face-down on his bed, his room illuminated by the moon, still in his charred clothes; they can’t be comfortable at all. She sits next to him for a few minutes, starts counting out the seconds, and when more than a hundred pass she sticks a finger into his side, making him draw himself up and pout at her. “You should change. Your sheets are going to smell like ash.”

He just puts his hand over his eyes and flops back on them. She winces and then waits another minute before speaking again. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

For a second she thinks he’s going to rebuff her again, but he just brings down his dark-skinned arm and opens up a single eye, surrounded in a sea of purple, to stare at her. “I just didn’t have a really great day today.”

“Clearly,” she teases, pointing to his bruise. “Why are you so mad at Dad?”

“I’m not . . . I’m not mad at him,” he almost growls, and she raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, you are. Did he do something?”

“He thinks I’m stupid.”

“No he doesn’t,” she consoles. “Of course he doesn’t.”

He narrows an eye at her. “You think I’m stupid, too.”

“Oh, Kaz. We don’t think you’re stupid. We both know you’re incredibly intelligent and we both love you very much.”

Something is still shining in his eyes, something different; but then they squeeze and when they reopen they revert back to normal, the way they always are. “You love me?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course we love you. You and Zuya, you two are our entire world, you know that? We would do anything for you,” she tries to convince. It breaks her heart a little, the sheer idea that her baby might not understand just how much he matters to her. Because he is her entire world. She feels her eyes fill with tears that she tries to quickly blink away because she doesn’t want him to see them. But she’s too late — when she looks he’s staring at her wondrously.

Then he reaches out and throws his arms around her, pulling her into his arms; he’s a little taller than her now and it feels so weird, so terrible, because he’s grown up and now she fits under his head. “I love you, Mom. I love you so much.”

“I know. And you know Dad loves you to the ends of the Earth, right?”

He’s muffled against her back but she can hear some of his words. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“We’re going to need to talk about this night-fight in the morning.”

“Mom?”

She’s rubbing circles on his back, tracing the growing muscle in the dark. He really is growing up. “Yes, Kaz?”

“I’m so lost.”

That wasn’t what she was expecting and her lips twitch where he can’t see them. “What do you mean?”

“There’s something I feel like I have to do but I don’t know if I have . . . if I have the ability to do it.”

She frowns. “Like a school project?”

He’s either choking or laughing into her hair. “Sure, Mom. But also just in general.”

“Being a teenager is hard. I know you’ll do what’s best for yourself. We’re always here to guide you.”

“What if you can’t?”

“I mean it. We always will,” she rubs another circle. “Do you want help with something?”

“No — I, I — you’ll love me no matter what, right?”

“Yes. Of course.”

It seems like that’s all he needed to hear; as the following silence turns into minutes she senses his breathing slow down until he’s asleep next to her. Katara untangles herself from her son’s body and looks him over once again, bruised face swelling in the moon’s light, before letting herself back into the hallway. 

Chapter Text

“That’s a terrible bruise. What, did you slam your head into a building after you left last time?”

Kazou’s glare is reminiscent of the one she usually wears. “Got into a fight on the way home.”

“Got into one?” she asks. “Did you start one?”

The sullen way he grunts in return is the only answer she needs to those questions, and she bites the inside of her cheek. “Are you going to do more than listen?”

“I’m sure I can. I just haven’t been able to practice. Because you didn’t let me.”

“Well,” she exhales, “I suppose that it’s better to use your aggression in your bending rather than to attack random civilians. It’s fun, you know, but you shouldn’t hurt them. It gets messy and neither of us want to be found here.”

His pupils blow wide. “They weren’t civilians! I wouldn’t hurt civilians! They were just a gang of — of people who — who stare at me.”

“Did you use —”

“You sound just like Dad. No, I didn’t use my bending. I’m not stupid. I fought them physically and that’s how I got this,” he points to his mottled face. “And I got home late and my parents were angry.”

“Fine, fine. Breathe for a while and then start your forms, work on your stance. The more grounded the better. Still white?”

“Yes.”

“I want blue.”

“I can do it — I figured out how to put my emotions into that box. I can do it. It’ll be blue.”

“Fine,” Azula huffs. “Show, don’t tell.”

“Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“Yes, Master.”

Her nephew is an interesting boy and she finds it so hilarious, so utterly damning, that her dear little brother threw him right into her clutches. Zuko really can’t do anything right; he can’t even run away from his duties correctly. Not that she wants him to sit on the throne — in fact, this suits her. She’s known he’s been here for a while, of course, and she would have killed him and his waterbender wife ages ago if it hadn’t been for their children.

It’s so quintessentially like Zuko to throw away his entire destiny and play house; it’s something their mother would have done. But she can’t just lament his choices when they’ve given her Kazou. The boy is everything she needs and so different from his father and yet similar. But Zuko was always spoiled, always allowed to stew in himself. Of course the bleeding heart waterbender and this new peasant version of her brother weren’t able to recognize the signs of their son’s anguish. 

Her nation has been slowly slipping out of her hands, all her governors and advisors speaking through their teeth, trying to take advantage of her, trying to marry her off so that they can put one of their own in power. She’d needed a way to cement her reign several months ago, when the assassination attempts started increasing in number. She hadn’t had the time to find an arrangement for a child, didn’t like the idea of marriage to a man. And then one of her spies in the Lower Ring had messaged her to tell her that for once in his life Zuko hadn’t monumentally messed up. His firstborn, a son, is a firebender, and he’s full of rage. 

It was a gamble, leaving a palace so split into two, letting the lords and their sycophants take the reins for a bit. But her choice — coming to Ba Sing Se, meeting Kazou, training him, molding him — has left her with no regrets. Kaz is more vicious than his parents, more angry, more like her and his other uncle — she remembers Ty Lee’s brief infatuation with the waterbender’s brother — and he is perfect for her purposes. She can go back and plan to put him on her throne and he will dance to her tunes. He’s young and impressionable and she is stepping on him in the best way.

And yet Azula also has to admit that she doesn’t find him to be that terrible of a nephew and student. She still remembers her own masters, remembers how her father used to encourage her when she was a teenager. Snarling comments and bruises. He never damaged her permanently because she was still stronger, still a better child than Zuko, but he was still wrong. She enjoys training Kaz, enjoys being his master, enjoys the knowledge that with every affirmation he receives from her she’s breaking Zuko apart. But she also doesn’t mind it when she sees herself reflected in his murky eyes and she sometimes feels a strange burst of pride when he does something especially well.

She doesn’t like him, she doesn’t like most people; she liked Mai and Ty Lee, and her best friend betrayed her and the one who could have been something more ran away. But when she’d stood over him, hand poised over his face like her father’s once was over her brother’s, and he’d insisted on fighting, he’d insisted on staying defiant . . . she’d been proud in her own way. Kazou isn’t like Zuko; he has her spirit and her pride. 

But that moment had also reminded her of the amount of power she has as a master. The ability to inflict pain upon her student, upon her nephew, purposefully, isn’t something she even needs to consider because he sources that energy so well from himself. And she’s glad she doesn’t need to make that decision, doesn’t need to choose whether or not to hurt him. She’s always certain of herself but she doesn’t know what she would do if she’d had to. She is not good, is not Iroh, but her father wasn’t all right either. He didn’t understand pragmatic emotional connection.

She nods at Kazou as he lands firmly on the ground and his facial expression doesn’t change but he stands up a little straighter. This is what Ozai did right; she was a prodigy and he knew it. Kaz isn’t at quite the same level, doesn’t quite understand himself the way she knows herself so clearly, but he is much better than his father. He did take after the right side of his family; remembering an angry Water Tribe boy stalking her in Ba Sing Se, she wants to chuckle. Perhaps there are two right sides of it, but she’s sure the hunter with the captured girlfriend is gone.

His flames are hitting the pavement, lighting up the ground of the little Upper Ring house she’s using, and they’re still rather bright white, although at least they’re no longer yellow. There is still a bit of a way for him to go to improve, to truly be able to find peace in his pride, to be able to create lightning. She supposes he doesn’t need to be able to create flames like her, but seeing those erupt into Zuko’s scarred face would be the best kind of victory. She almost salivates thinking about it.

“Focus!” She barks out, and his forehead creases, his eyes narrow. His next kick creates a larger stream of fire, and the area where the energy leaves his body is sparking. She frowns and gestures for him to stop. “Do that again.”

He acquiesces and she sees a purple glow before his flames taper out again. “You’re improving.”

“I am?”

“I said it, didn’t I?” she rolls her eyes. “Don’t make me repeat myself. You’re getting better. What are you thinking about?”

“Does it matter?” 

No, but I want to know. I want to know that I’ve won.

“Yes. It’s important for me to understand such things as your master.”

He stills and scratches his chin, one hand splayed forward to keep his balance. “I was thinking about the past and the future and what they both mean.”

“Your future isn’t here.”

“Yeah,” he sighs in a way that’s more conciliatory than she’d expected — she would have been absolutely pleased, at his age, to know that she was now the Crown Princess. “I’ve accepted that. I talked to my mom and I . . . accepted that.”

“You didn’t tell them, did you?”

“Seriously, why does everyone think I have no filter? Of course I didn’t tell them I knew! Why would I do that? They’d just defend themselves and twist the story themselves. I mean, you might be twisting the story, but it does make complete sense —”

“I know what you’re capable of. I’m just ensuring that I don’t have to go and confront them now —”

She lets him interrupt her too much. She lets him speak and stumble in his own angry and young way. Her father wouldn’t have stood for his mumbling, nor would the dozens of tutors she grew up around. But it’s sort of charming, in a way, his normality. And he won’t necessarily have to leave it behind; his candid nature might appeal to the court who will see him as a toy when he’s anything but. 

She doesn’t have a soft spot in her heart for such feelings, but fondness envelops her anyway even as she tries to chase it away. It’s hard to detest someone who feels like herself reflected. She does rather like herself.

“Then it’s fine. It’s fine. I just talked to them and saw them and figured that I need to do what’s right. And being . . . a Fire Nation person —”

“The Crown Prince of the Fire Nation.”

“Isn’t something I can really run away from. It’s something I shouldn’t run away from.”

The smile that’s enveloping her is too uncharacteristic so she bites it down. “Good to hear. Start from the —”

“Would I have to leave?”

“You can’t,” she drawls, “learn how to run the Fire Nation from the Earth Kingdom.”

“But I don’t want to leave . . .”

“What?” Azula remembers everything her father was, everything he required of his children, find the Avatar, kill the Avatar, and then thinks about everything Zuko is not. “Do you really think you should begrudge yourself this much power?”

“They said,” he whispers, almost weakly, “Mom said she loves me no matter what.”

Something stings her chest but she powers around it; she always does. “Speak louder, Kaz. And think past your meaningless feelings of affection. Some things need to take precedence. You’re proud, aren’t you? This is you earning it.”

He looks a little uncertain so she sighs and blasts him. “You’re going to become everything you ever wished you could be. More than this. It’s your life, not theirs.” 

And those are the right words; they settle into him and uplift his shoulders. He crosses his hands and moves to the side to deflect the fire, flames flickering violet as they calmly escape him.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to miss you,” Kazou whispers into his sister’s hair. “Goodbye. I love you, Zuya.”

He kisses her cheek before carefully taking a step back towards her door. And then he winces when he hears her: “Where are you going?”

“Um, nowhere.”

“You just said goodbye,” she says, her voice tinged by sleep. “That means you’re going somewhere.”

“I’m not — goodnight!” he whispers loudly before trying to run out of the room. He’s about to open it when something hits the center of his thigh and one of his legs collapses underneath him. He shudders as he falls on the wooden floor. “Seriously? That’s not fair.”

Luckily his upper half is still working so he has the ability to turn his head and glare at his sister as she stands, dimly illuminated by her night lamp, next to him. She’s holding up two fingers the same way Aunt Ty usually does and has a cheeky grin on her face. “It’s so fair.”

“Mom must have heard me fall down. Now we’ll both get in trouble.”

“Mom and Dad are being freaky. They won’t care —”

“Zuya!”

She giggles before dragging his legs forwards until his back is straight against her low bed. It’s not exactly a comfortable position but it’s better than lying across the floor, and he still has control of his hands, at least. He reaches one out to brighten the room, forgetting for a moment that he’s not bending in front of his family. In the short range his purple flame is obvious.

“Why is your fire purple?”

“Uh, fire can be a lot of colors, you know? We’ve only seen Dad’s and his is orange and red. Maybe other people in the Fire Nation have other colors.”

“It wasn’t purple before. You know,” she tilts herself back on her sheets, “I haven’t actually seen you bend in a while.”

“Where am I supposed to? I still meditate in the mornings, anyway.”

“Yeah,” she frowns. “What did you mean by goodbye?”

Zuya has brown hair and bright blue eyes, but besides her notable features she looks very much like Aunt Azula. Her features are sharp and heart-shaped; and the pout she’s wearing right now, although innocent, looks a bit like Azula’s manipulative smirk. There is no doubt at all that they’re related. If Zuya’s hair was worn in the same style rather than laying loose across her shoulders he could have called her the wrong name.

“Hello? Kaz?” she waves a hand in front of his face, her tone suddenly serious — as much as it can be for an ten-year-old. “What did you mean by goodbye?”

“I told you, nothing,” he grumbles.

“No. Why did you say you were going to miss me?” He stays silent and she displays her fingers. “I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s wrong. Something’s wrong, Kaz! And why are you so mad at Dad?”

“I’m not mad at Dad.”

“No, you’re mad at Dad. You won’t even talk to him anymore. And now he’s sad.”

“Why do you care so much about —”

“Um,” she leans back and looks a little astonished. “Why do I care so much about Dad? Because he’s Dad? What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me!”

“You know, I’m not exactly stupid either. You came back late that day and got that awful bruise and now you won’t talk to Dad and you look so sad and your fire is purple — I can tell Mom and Dad are worried too, and now you’re saying goodbye? Are you leaving?”

He really, really doesn’t want to lie to her, even if he should. Too much has been said by omission lately. “I . . . am. For a long time.”

“What?” she lurches up and falls to the floor next to him, her hair falling in front of her face as she grasps his shoulder. “What does . . . what does that mean? You can’t leave, Kaz. You’re, like, fourteen. You’re in school. And then there’s university. Where would you go? Just — what —”

“I haven’t really been going to school.”

“Yes you have. You go to school every day. Wait,” she reaches up and touches his forehead. “Are you sick?”

Kazou just reaches up and takes off her hand. “I’m perfectly fine. I just . . .” how does he put into words what he needs to say? “I found some people who’ve been helping me with my bending. And we’re going to the Fire Nation.”

He closes his eyes in anticipation for something — he’s not quite sure what, maybe a call for his parents, maybe a slap across the face — but when he opens his eyes Zuya is staring at him mournfully. “Oh, Kaz. What . . . someone did something to your head. We should go talk to Mom and —”

“No!” He reaches up and grabs her arm as she stands, pulling her into place besides him. “Mom and Dad . . . they won’t get it, Zuya. I need to leave. I can’t be who I need to be here.”

She crosses her hands over her chest. “But you’re perfect here. You’re Kaz, and you’re my big brother, and you’re angry and you firebend and — it’s all okay here. Why would you go back to the Fire Nation? Didn’t Dad leave the Fire Nation?”

“Don’t you see, though? I can’t be me here. I’m not like you. I have to hide my bending. I’m always about to get captured. When I go to the Fire Nation I’ll be okay. And you can come too, after a while —”

He wants to play into her princess fantasies, the ones she still believes in, the stories she still asks for, but that would definitely give him away. Her lips quiver. “You’re going to leave us?”

“I’m not — I’m not leaving you. I’ll come back —”

“No, you were going to leave us!” she accuses, and he can’t respond angrily because she’s right. “You were going to leave after saying a stupid goodbye while I was stupidly asleep.”

“I — I wasn’t. I don’t know exactly when I’m leaving. But I just wanted — I just wanted you to know that I love you.”

“Well I wouldn’t even know! You thought I was sleeping!”

“I —”

“You can’t leave. You just can’t leave like that, it doesn’t make any sense. Were you just going to disappear? Think about how sad Mom and Dad would be. Think about me —”

“I —”

“You’re joking, right? You’ve got to be joking,” she looks into his eyes and when she can’t see anything there but stern resolve she buries her face in her hands. “You’re not leaving. It would be the stupidest thing you could ever do.”

“I have to, Zuya. I love all of you but —”

“What but? There’s no but! If you really hate Ba Sing Se so much I’m sure Dad would let us leave! We wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have a good reason for us to be here. What’s so bad about the Earth Kingdom, anyway? So you can’t bend —”

“— That’s actually a pretty major problem —”

“You can’t just leave because you’re angry! That’s exactly how people make the wrong decisions. Besides, I don’t think you’d leave if you truly love all of us —”

“Really? You’re saying I don’t love you because I want to find myself?” their voices are rising, barely whispers, but when their parents are busy they never hear anything. “That’s so unfair!”

“Guess what? Life’s unfair! You have a . . . um, you have a duty. As a brother and a son and all of that. I don’t want to never see you again!”

“You’ll see me again!”

“Yeah, right. Because while joining up with a bunch of weird Fire Nation people to leave here you totally made a plan to come back.”

His breathing, heavy as it is, starts to calm down a bit. “I just shouldn’t have told you this. I knew you wouldn’t understand!”

“Because it doesn’t make any sense! Why would you want to go back to the Fire Nation? It’s hurt so many people. The Blue Spirit and the princess helped people and they still got in trouble in the Fire Nation —”

“It’s just a story, Zuya! It’s a dumb story, like everything else Mom and Dad say, none of it is real —”

“Don’t call Mom and Dad dumb! They’re smarter than you. It’s not like you’re an adult or anything.”

He can feel his legs a little bit better now, can flex his calves a bit. He moves them slowly, trying to ensure that they aren’t in his sister’s line of sight. He’s focused and he doesn’t have anything to say, but his heart pounds out of his chest when she follows up in a small little voice. “I can’t let you do this. I’m sorry.”

“Zuya . . .” he warns. “If you love me as much as I love you —”

“You’re being so strange, Kaz. You’re trying to run away and you’re mad at our parents and all of that. All they’ve ever done is be there for us and you want to leave them? You know their parents are dead. You really want to leave the parents that you have? That’s selfish —”

“It’s not selfish, okay? It’s better for you that your shameful firebender brother isn’t here. It’s better for Mom and Dad and yeah, it’s a little bit better for me. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Suddenly her words are choking like she’s switched tactics. “Please don’t go, Kaz. P—please  don’t do this.”

He shouldn’t make physical contact with her because she can use that against her; her prodigal ability to mess with the human body is terrifying. But he reaches out and clasps her hand, turns it between two of his. “I’m sorry, and I love you, but I have to.”

Suddenly she lurches at him and puts herself into his arms, smoothing herself to his chest. Her nightclothes are silky and cold and soft and she smells like home. He wonders if he’ll miss that when he leaves, the smell of tea which follows him everywhere, the scent of things being clean. Zuya is so tiny, so young. He makes a silent promise to her: I will come back for you, and then you’ll be a princess like in your story, and you’ll know that I’m right. You will.

It’s a deep and frightening moment and he almost loses himself in it, almost starts to doubt himself, but then he feels her left shoulder shift. He catches her arm before her fingers dig themselves into his thighs. “Kaz —”

“You need to trust me.”

“I need to tell Mom and Dad so they can help you —”

He’s not the best at chi-blocking, doesn’t have the best form, but he redirects her arm so that she targets herself and her legs go limp. She’s still in his arms so he’s able to carry her and he lies her down on the bed, ignoring the way her fists try to escape his grasp. He would take out the rest of her too but he just doesn't like that idea. Mom and Dad won’t hear her, anyway. Not in time. He’s going to have to leave right now.

Zuya shouts as he removes her face from his tunic, and he just takes that moment to look into her eyes one more time before he covers her with her blankets and runs out of the room. Her yell makes its way into the hallway when he opens the door, and a minute later there’s a shout from the room across his. “Is everyone alright?”

“Yes!” 

He runs to his closet and starts pulling out a small bag. What does he need? A change of clothes, a toothbrush, the Pai Sho tile.

The air stands suspended in this moment, like the world is trying to explain the gravity of the situation to him. Zuya was right about one thing; once he leaves with Azula he doesn’t have a plan to come back. But he will, when he’s an actual prince, and they’ll all understand. His parents won’t because they’ll still think they’re doing what’s best, but Zuya will get it. It’ll all be okay. They’ll love him no matter what and he’s doing the best thing for him right now. 

His belongings, the important ones, look meager in the bag, and as he slides it over his shoulder he runs to the living room and starts grabbing random things. There’s Druk, his stuffed dragon, sitting in the corner, and there’s a stack of tea coupons on the counter. A small vase, a ceramic fish that Mom loves for whatever reason. Parts of home. He needs to leave but he doesn’t want to. But he does? He’s never really said goodbye to anything. He wishes he could hug Zuya again and feels immeasurable guilt for leaving her like that. But his time is running out. He needs to leave.

The door sounds closed with a light crack and then he’s sprinting down the street. Kaz won’t look back. He won’t.

Chapter Text

“His room is a mess. He’s gone.”

Zuko doesn't even look at his wife and daughter before rushing out of the house and slamming the door open like he’ll be able to see his son running off in the distance. But it’s dark at night and it’s already been too long; Kaz is gone.

He’s shaking but he needs to stay strong. He can. The door stays open as he stalks back inside to where Katara is hugging Zuya — the little girl is crying, tears running down her cheeks, and his heart collapses. He runs up to both of them and envelops them in his arms, ignoring the empty space on his right where Kazou should be. He’ll be there in a bit.

“Say it again,” Katara says. “About where he’s going. What did he say?”

“H—he just said people are g—going to help him with his bending. And it was weird, Mom. He lit up one of my lamps and it was purplish-blue. And then he just said that they were going to the Fire Nation. That’s it.”

Katara’s hand spasms against him. “Blue fire?”

“He hasn’t — he’s been so angry at me I haven’t noticed — it’s been weeks since we’ve bent together —”

“Blue fire,” she repeats and clasps down on his arms. Her grip is tight but he can definitely stand it. It’s keeping him a little grounded right now. “Blue fire.”

“It can’t be,” he shoves his face into her hair. It feels wrong to just stand here, feels like he should be running through every street in Ba Sing Se screaming his son’s name. “She’s in the Fire Nation.”

“No,” and when he looks at her she’s turning pale, her eyes wide and her grip on Zuya leaving her knuckles white. “I didn’t tell you, on that night that he came back late — Ty Lee told me that there are rumors that she’s left. That she’s not there.”

“She can’t be here.”

“We wouldn’t — we wouldn’t know if she was. But she would know about us. We’re not exactly —”

“Shit.” His mind is blowing itself out of his chest, his thoughts spiralling. If Azula is in Ba Sing Se, if she’s not in the Fire Nation . . . blue fire. She would have found them, she knows about Lee. He’s been banking on her want for him to not exist for the past twenty years. If she knows about Lee then she knows about Kazou and Zuya.

Blue fire.

“Mom? Dad? What’s happening? I don’t get it, who’s she —”

They should answer her questions but all he can think about are Kazou’s — all the questions he’s had over the years, ones about their families, about their nations, about the stories they tell. His son is perceptive and he knows that they’re not Earth Kingdom and he’s a firebender so he knows that he’s not safe here. But Zuko’s always considered his questions childish inquiries, always considered them harmless, always came up with another story.

He walked into a war room and made one of the most monumental decisions of his life when he was thirteen and that was too young. He commanded his own ship for three years and then fought the Avatar and then went undercover and then joined the Avatar. And then he counted his losses and got married at eighteen and he’s been lying to himself since then. It’s easy to be Lee. Lee has a wife and two kids and Lee can’t firebend; he handles ledgers and boils pots and does dishes. He runs a tea shop.

Once upon a time this wasn’t him; he used to be a prince. He was about to become Fire Lord when he ran away from his destiny because he’d lost everything and wanted to survive another day. He’s lived two lives, two halves, and he likes this one more. This one is easy.

Katara has been saying for the past year that they should tell Kazou the truth but he’s been fighting against that. To tell his son the truth would be to acknowledge the past he’s been hiding so well from himself. It would lend to his unrest and maybe even heighten his discord; Kaz is an emotional mess at best. And maybe this is the universe conspiring against him. If Azula is in Ba Sing Se — and who else would teach Kazou how to channel himself so clearly, how to create blue — and Kaz is running away to the Fire Nation . . . he knows something.

If only he’d listened to Katara, if only he’d concluded one of their arguments about this and let go. Kaz would be here and he’d be suspicious and angry but he would be with his family, not with Azula or any number of the radical Fire Nation anarchists in the Earth Kingdom. If the pieces truly fit this well then he doesn’t know what to do. What sort of twisted story would his sister tell his son? 

Something about loss and betrayal and cultural heritage. He feels like a failure; he’s known for ages that Kazou isn’t happy here, is bitter about his inability to bend, but he’s ignored those signs. Just like he ignored his son’s sudden lack of interest in bending and newfound cool anger. It’s much easier to stay oblivious than to acknowledge something is wrong. To him and Katara this is a utopia, the best life they can live. But what will Kaz see?

His father could have been a king and turned down his legacy. His parents were masters to the Avatar — and even if Aang is long-gone, that still turns heads. He could have been a prince — he is a prince. His mother is the daughter of a water tribe’s chief and he comes from a line of masters and leaders, a line of Sozin and Roku and Ozai and Hakoda, a line of power. These are things that don’t matter very much to thirty-four-year-old Zuko but they sound like a young boy’s fantasies. When he was fourteen he was captaining a ship and searching for his honor across the seven seas. Teenage boys make bad decisions.

And then what would Azula want with Kaz? The same as any group of radicals would want; Kaz is a powerful bender, fueled, and he has the potential for emotional control that Zuko never has had — the reason he was never as good as his sister at her sanest. He’s young and impressionable and full of fire. But he’s been sought out for a reason. There are a number of displaced young firebenders throughout the colonies, many victims of war and a soldier’s cruelty. There is only one reason Azula would bother with her nephew, and that is — not something he can comprehend right now.

There will be time to deliberate on his decisions and have regrets later. Right now he has a son to find, and he will find him. There is one thing he hasn’t lost over the years and that is his determination. He wants his family whole and he will have it, damn the costs. Everything else is in his way.

Zuko takes in a deep breath but when he releases it he doesn’t know what to say so Katara, looking into his eyes with resolve, speaks for him. “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’re going to find your brother,” she whispers into her daughter’s hair. Then she releases the both of them and immediately starts looking for her extra waterskins. “The swords, Zuko. Whether it’s her or anyone else they’ll have to be in the Upper Ring and they’ll leave through the gate.”

“He’d really leave? Right now?”

“We have to plan for the worst case scenario, don’t we? She could still have what’s left of the Dai Li. I just don’t . . .” she groans in frustration. “I just don’t know where.”

Zuya is pulled away from both of them, her eyes narrowed. “So something is really wrong and that’s why he’s leaving. Just tell me —”

It’s Katara, again, who reaches out to hold her hand, and he feels terrible that he isn’t being supportive enough right now. But Katara knows what she’s doing and he knows that she shares his perspective on this; they’ll get their son back no matter the costs. “We’ll tell you. We will, okay? But after we get Kaz back. It’s a long story and we don’t have time right now.”

“I . . . okay, fine,” she scrunches her eyes together and Zuko leans down and kisses her on the cheek before grabbing his swords from the bedroom. He practices in the backyard several times a week but it’s been literal years since he fought in combat with his daos. He’s older now, broader and hardened and with less pure muscle mass, but the blades are a familiar weight in his palm. 

There isn’t much time but they both slide out of their sleep clothes and into all black, reminiscent of the outfits they wore when they’d confronted Yon Rha all those years ago. Zuya sits on the couch and stares at the wall, and when they emerge almost seconds later dressed like villains she startles. “You’re going to —”

Zuko stares at her for a long moment and feels so many regrets. Then he scoops her up in his arms and makes a decision he knows is mostly sound, even if it tears him apart a little. “Zuya, you need to go to Aunt Ty’s house, okay?”

“W—what? Why can’t I stay here?”

“Aunt Ty is safe and she’ll help you. You can’t be alone here, I don’t know who’s watching you — we’ll walk you there right now, okay? And then you need to go inside and you need to tell her — listen to what I’m saying very carefully — you need to tell her that she was right and that Azula has Kaz, and that they’re both going back to the Fire Nation, and that we’re going to the Upper Ring. Tell her she can stay or come but if she leaves she needs to lock you inside, okay? You can stay safe but you need to stay locked inside of her apartment. And she’ll know that.”

“Aunt Ty . . .” she repeats dazedly, and Zuko taps her shoulders as Katara comes up behind him with a worried look. 

“We’ll be back soon, okay? You just need to tell all of this to Aunt Ty. You can do that, right?”

Sometimes he forgets that Zuya is just a few months younger than what Aang used to be — she still feels like the child he almost lost, the small one which cried for days in his arms after she was born too soon. He was her age when he lost his mother, maybe less. He won’t have her go through that type of pain; she will have the three of them back.

He forces her to put on a jacket and then hoists her up over his shoulder, covering her tell-tale features with her hood, and opens the door as Katara snuffs out the lights of their home. Kaz’s door is still open and he can see clothes spread across the floor. No. 

And then the second they close their door they’re running through the streets. He can’t tell what time it is but it’s past all activity and before dawn, when he usually awakes; the streetlamps are still on but dim enough that they can’t see much beyond every block. Ty Lee’s place, the one she sleeps in, is relatively far away, but it’s a path they both know well. And it’s also closer to the Upper Ring, closer to Kaz.

They’re two blocks away, enough to see the building standing proudly, when he lets go of Zuya and kisses her on the forehead one more time. Katara pulls her into her arms as well and he thinks his wife might be crying as she asks if Zuya knows what to say; when the little girl nods her hands clench as she tears them away. They both watch in silence as she runs up to the door. When they see it open they turn away and sprint the opposite direction.

“Over there,” Katara whispers. There’s a water tank standing above what looks like a collection of restaurants. They’re closer to the second level and the places here are more cultured than the ones he knows. Most of them have sealed doors and are raised on platforms. 

Their plan is silent but they’ve discussed something like this before. What would we do if we had to go back?

We’d go out with a bang. If we had to get caught we’d make sure they’d catch us. We won’t go silently, we won’t make it easy. We’re not weak, not yet.

Zuko thinks about Kazou; his baby, the child playing with stuffed dragons and fish and giggling under a glass mobile, the boy asking him about bending and for more stories and trying to hold his swords. He’s not his father and he never will be. He doesn’t know how it’s possible for a father to love his child any less than this. His feelings burn through his throat.

That’s all it takes to remember the dragons, remember breathing, remember energy and life. And as Katara widens her stance and reaches out to hold his hand he squeezes it and inhales.

When they pull away from each other a tidal wave falls over the earthen streets of the area and he’s breathing fire with his eyes closed. This life can’t be meaningless.

Aunt Ty looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“You’re sure — they said Azula? The name? Azula?”

“Y—yeah,” she shudders, curled up on the couch. “They said that she has Kaz, or something. But he just told me that he’s going to the Fire Nation with people who are helping him bend.”

“Oh no,” the woman says. “No, no, no,” she shakes her head, looks down, and when Zuya looks up again her eyes look like they’re about to release tears before she gets up and stands straight. She turns around and stares at the wall for half a moment; something sounds like it’s erupting outside, loud and cacophonous. 

Zuya runs over to the small window on the side and peeks out. Then her jaw hangs open. There’s a small layer of sludge covering the roads and the water tower in the distance has been blown apart. In the distance it looks like something is burning. It seems strange that a natural disaster would happen at this very moment, when it feels like nothing makes sense anymore anyway.

After a second Ty Lee joins her and loudly gasps. “They’re doing it,” she says almost reverently before her mouth turns into a thin line. “I have to go help your parents, Zuya.”

“But what are they doing?”

“You’ll understand in a bit. But I’m going to — you can’t leave, alright? I’m going to lock the door and you don’t open it for anybody besides me or your parents, okay? Nobody.”

“You can’t just go!”

“I need to, Zuya. I’m sorry, but you’ll understand in a bit. Right now I need . . .” she sounds like she’s choking, “there’s something I need to do, too. Closure.”

“Closure?” 

Before she can say another word her mentor and de-facto family member leaps through the door, already dressed in her combat gear from her classes. Zuya is left to see a door slammed shut, a single flame glowing in the empty apartment.

She really, really wants to figure out what’s going on here. And she doesn’t want to stay here. So she runs to the open window and can make out the edges of a person in pink moving towards the flames. And if she squints her eyes she can make out the telltale green of the Earth King’s soldiers.

That’s Dad. Dad is firebending. 

You can stay safe but you need to stay locked inside of her apartment.

She bites her lip and tests the window hinge — after a few tugs, it opens. The jump to the ground isn’t too bad and if she lands it she’ll make it. She’s been training for a long time, she can jump a few feet out of a building.

So she blows out the light and then does, dodging behind empty stands as she traces a figure in pink.

Chapter Text

Azula, of course, had a plan. He shouldn't have been surprised when he ran to her house; it's been minutes and she's already packed, her guards lugging a few bags behind her as they head toward the gate which leads out of the city. It's been rebuilt along with the rest of Ba Sing Se and it's not at all difficult to leave from, especially with the documents one of her guards slides the sleepy earthbender keeping watch. 

When he had left the Lower Ring once with his mother it’d taken a week to get just their passes — it feels patently unfair that the citizens of the Upper Ring get to leave on a whim. But he supposes that's life and he'll be on the right side of it from here on out. 

It's dark, down in the vestiges of the night, and before they finish getting across he looks down at the streets once more. The ones here aren't the ones he grew up in — they're tidied and well-kept, full of hedges and trees — but he feels like they are still intrinsically from Ba Sing Se. His heart hurts and he looks down like he'll be able to see it pulsing. Yes, he hates Ba Sing Se for what it's done to him but it isn't too bad of a place. It's full of people who he supposes just want to live, and he can't blame them for that. If Mom and Dad didn't have him, if it was just Zuya, if he couldn't bend . . . he could have been happy here. Relatively poor and regular, but happy. If only his fire wasn't such an integral part of him. 

There are the classmates he won't see again, even if they stay away and whisper about him. There's the school building and the servers and regulars to the shop. There's Aunt Ty, who might be Mom and Dad's only real friend. And then there is his family. His heart beats faster and this time he doesn't glance down, just traces the lanterns in the guardhouse. Azula has her hood up, obscuring her face from the person at the gate, and she's turned away from him anyway; a good thing. He doesn't want her to see this moment of weakness or the tears which are welling up in his eyes.

He'll miss Zuya and her small strength and determination, the way she's always willing to believe whatever she's told. It's a part of her charm, her pure naivety. The way she usually trusts him blindly, always knows that he'll catch her. Sure they fight sometimes like siblings are prone to do, but he doesn't understand how Dad and Azula can have such a tumultuous relationship. He can't imagine Zuya ever trying to kill him or vice-versa; that's simply not what siblings do. He'll miss the way she always chi-blocks him and therefore wins their arguments. He says he doesn't fight back because she's a girl but that's just to save face. At close quarters she'll always have the advantage. Even if he actually learned how to use his dad's swords properly, she'd still have him. 

He'll miss Mom and the way she hugs him and scowls at him all the same when he doesn't help with dinner. The stories she tells about everything, the ones that he knows are fabricated to begin with. Mom has a strange way with words. The way she's always so awfully protective of him, the way she just loves all of them so much and isn't afraid to say it. Some part of him thinks it's because of everything she's lost, but he hopes that isn't it. Mom always smiles for him and Zuya. He hates that that might be a facade. And this might have all happened because of his parents but he can't really blame Mom. She doesn't lie when she says that they're all her entire world.

And Dad?

He thinks he might miss Dad. He doesn't think he should because this is all Dad's fault. He's going to make up for Dad's loss and Dad running away. He doesn't want to miss his father but . . . some part of him believes that he might have truly believed he was doing what was best for them. He might not have been right but he might have believed it nonetheless. Dad who wakes up in the morning and usually meditates with him, Dad who takes him out to dinner and buys him extra custard when Mom isn't looking, Dad who holds his hands and tells him to be strong and proud. Dad's always told him to be firm and powerful and to have pride. Maybe Dad can only blame himself for this. You can't teach your son about power and then be angry when he runs away to grab it.

Kaz has assigned most of the blame of this situation to his father because that's easy. Because his dad's lie might have been the biggest one; being an undercover prince is the revelation of a lifetime. He doesn't think this one will ever be topped. And sure, it might be more multifaceted. A part of him knows that Azula's story is a little too much, that she's powerful but she couldn't have won against a firebender and a waterbender working together. But that's running too deep into his imagination.

He'll come back one day. He will. This goodbye hurts and makes him want to fall apart in tears but he can't do that right now. He's already made his decision and he can't come back now. He needs to let them go so he can focus himself. So he can accept his destiny. He has chosen, hasn't he?

It's been a few minutes and he wonders if they're going to head back, but when he turns to the side he sees the guard is lazily going through the papers. Azula looks insulted by his dawdling hands on the paper but she can't really say anything, so she looks at him and raises her eyebrows in a gesture he thinks might actually be an attempt at humor. He just rolls his eyes in response as one of her men, an earthbender, salutes next to her before whispering something in her ear. She scoffs at what he says and the man moves away.

Kaz grabs the man's arm as he stops to bow to him. It's so strange to think that — that an earthbender, a soldier, is bowing to him just because of his relationship to his aunt — but it doesn't really matter, anyway. "What happened?" he questions. It's late and he's mentally exhausted and he wants to think about something inane.

"I was just informing the Fire Lord about the status of the Earth King's soldiers, sir. They are luckily not in the Upper Ring tonight."

"And why's that?"

The man leans up and looks to the side, where Azula has turned back to the documents and looks like she's about to set the gatekeeper on fire. Then he shrugs and turns bright red. 

"Come on. I won't tell her."

He shrugs. "There's been some sort of disaster in the Lower Ring. They've captured a waterbender and a firebender trying to destroy a part of the --"

Kazou doesn't hear the rest of that sentence. Waterbender and firebender. How many waterbenders are hiding with firebenders in Ba Sing Se? Not enough to have this be a coincidence. 

He thought his heart had stopped before but now it's truly not moving. He chokes on air and the guard stands there awkwardly for a second before reaching out and slamming his back. The gesture makes him lurch forward but the coughs escape him. 

He's leaving his family but he doesn't want them to be hurt. Mom and Dad tried to destroy something. They wouldn't do that for no reason. They like it here. Even if he left wouldn't they try to stay quiet here? There is nothing inconspicuous about a waterbender and a firebender in the Lower Ring of the city. They have been hiding here for something like twenty years. 

There's a reason they're doing this now and his second thought is Zuya; they better keep her safe.

He's sure his emotions are warping his face because the tall man beside him, despite being thrice his size and probably having more combative experience, looks terrified. "Sir . . ."

"Uh. Where would they take their prisoners?"

The man twitches. "Probably to the palace, I dunno. When I was younger probably Lake Laogai but I guess not there anymore. Maybe the Crystal Catacombs? Yeah, I think that's what they're using as a prison these days."

His decision is instinctive. "Can you —"

"Oh," the bumbling man continues. "No, they use the part with the river, that wouldn't work. Then yeah, the palace prisons."

"You're sure?" Idiot, he wants to say, but he knows he really shouldn't.

"Yeah, sure. What's the deal?"

Kaz glances to the side at Azula, who's turned back to him and looks like she's about to stalk forward. He winces because she isn't going to be happy about this. But she also isn't going to leave without him, not when they're this close. He knows that.

And that's why he reaches over for the man's beard and tugs his face down, ignoring the screech of pain he hears. "Alright, let's go. You're taking me."

There's a strange authoritative grounding to his voice. He's never ordered around any of Azula's guards before but they can't exactly say no to him. It's a good feeling which settles into his chest. "I can't — the Fire Lord —"

Is almost next to them and definitely looks murderous right now. Confidence, Kaz. Pride. 

He lights a finger up under the man's facial hair and he squeaks. It's almost funny. Then Kaz smirks even if he feels every second of this in his chest. "Let's go."

The guard is cross-eyed, staring at the purplish-blue flame which turns into red before extinguishing next to his chin. The bottom of his beard is already gone -- the stench of burning hair in the air is repulsive. It takes too long for him to quickly nod and the earth to rise up and move them back down the road they'd taken. Azula, almost next to him, is in the distance. 

"Kazou! Come back here right now!"

Her indignant tone almost feels caring. "I have to get my parents."

He can feel her seeth. "You're coming with me and we're leaving."

"I swear, I'll go! I just need to save them. I can't let them get in trouble for me!" He begs even though it won't do anything. It's not like Azula cares at all about his parents; now that he's with her she might even want Dad dead. And there is a thought that makes him shudder. He's mad at Dad but he really could never wish something so terrible upon a family member.

"Kazou!" She repeats and she's growing closer. He shaves off a little more of the man's beard and they're zipping to the palace again. "You insolent child!" Is all that's left before he can't hear her voice anymore, though loud and insistent footsteps are still sounding. 

Would she really follow him? Maybe he can use this. He's not proud enough to believe he's going to defeat several earthbending guards alone or with his parent's help. Azula and her retinue would be nice. They won't help his parents but he's strangely confident that she'll throw her lot in if he's in danger. 

They reach the prison moments later and he lets go of the guard after giving him a well-practiced glare and snapping his fingers to create a spark. He's not quite as good at the intimidation thing, definitely terrible in comparison to his aunt, but the fire is a fortification of his claims. 

He stands outside of the locked building, noting the three guards outside, and thinks about how he should have thought this through further. This prison is well-designed, newly formed after the war, and it's not exactly like he can burn down the metal walls surrounding it. 

All in all, he frowns, this place looks much too innocent to be a prison. Aside from the guards in uniform and its uncharacteristically large size, it could pass off as a regular Upper Ring building. There's a fountain outside and trees spotted across the courtyard, a wide circle of earth opening up as if to welcome people inside. It's hilarious but he supposes this isn't the way that prisoners enter. It's much too well-made, probably a way for visitors to escape.

Kazou is wondering if he can melt metal, if his fire is really hot enough, when steps sound behind him. He stays stalwart as Azula roughly places a hand on his shoulder and pulls him to her, her teeth showing in rage as she sneers at him. 

"Attachments, Kaz? You'd made your choice, hadn't you? This is inane. We need to leave. Stop this madness."

He crosses his hands over his chest in a gesture he realizes later only gives away his adolescence. "They're in prison because of me. I need to get them out! They're still my parents."

"That's nonsense. We were leaving regardless --"

"Well, yeah!” He shouts, and the rest of the retinue behind her turn around and start scouting the premises, looking at the other guards across the wall they're all behind. "I thought I was leaving them fine! That I could come back and they'd be fine! Now they'll never be okay and I can't leave them in jail. What about my sister?"

She doesn't look inspired at all so he tries again, tries to control his anger. "Master, I understand that this is unnecessary, but please. They're my family. If you could save your father wouldn't you?"

"No," she says shortly, and that doesn’t help his case at all. 

"Please, Aunt Azula?"

He's never really played the family card; he hopes it'll have some weight. Seconds pass and he's almost given up hope before she snaps her fingers and the guards come back to attention. "Kaz —"

And then several things happen at once.

A burst of water erupts through the center of the prison, pressurizing the metal until it tears. It spurts up and everyone stands in shock for a second, just staring at the roof collapse. Shards of metal don't fly but the prison almost looks like it's flattening itself. Even the guards at the structure turn around and gawk.

There's a bit of hope niggling in his mind but as the spray continues for a few seconds he almost lets it go. But then he sees a head of brown hair and he's glad he didn't. It's Mom, clutching onto Dad, carrying herself out of the prison on a wave. He's not sure where all the water is coming from at first but then he sees edges of metal coughing their way out onto the ground. 

His mother, who cooks dinner with too much salt and sews stuffed toys and hugs him, just blew up a building's plumbing system.

He's sure his mouth is hanging open as they both land next to the fountain in the courtyard. Dad moves to blow flames at the guards and two of them come to their senses and create walls to block him. The third one gets Mom, who moves over like she's about to dunk him in the fountain.

He's not sure what happens next to that guy because then he hears his aunt's gasp. It sounds different than her usual sounds; she's always calm and collected. This sound is truly shocked, like she'd been swept off her feet. 

"Azula," a familiar voice says, and he turns to the side and bites his lip as he sees Aunt Ty there. He'd think Azula would be staring at his parents, who are currently pummeling up the second wave of guards to come out through the prison. Her men are standing with their hand poised for action. He's not sure how many there are — in the dark he thinks maybe six or seven — and he doesn't care anyway.

He'd guessed that Aunt Ty was in on the story even if his parents hadn't given her away and Azula hadn't discussed her at all. He'd believed the backstory she'd told; that she'd run away and joined the circus as a teen, learned how to block chi and then settled down when she found his family. Perhaps they'd been friends during the war. Perhaps Azula hadn't mentioned her because she wasn't relevant.

He thinks that's wrong, because both of his aunts — one honorary, one by blood — are staring at each other like there is a lot of history there. He doesn't know what that might be but he knows the look on Aunt Ty's face. She's gearing up for a fight. 

One of the earthbenders on their side shoots a ball of earth at her but she nimbly jumps over it, her two fingers pointed up. The other half-dozen look like they're primed for combat but Azula holds up a hand and they pull back. "This one is mine," she growls, and it's a type of anger that makes him shudder. "Hello again, Ty Lee. It's a pleasure."

"I wish I could say the same," the other woman says, walking closer. Azula hasn't started fighting yet. She's just staring, looking at Ty Lee's face like she's drinking it in. It would almost look wistful if not for the hardness of her features.

He decides when he hears an uproar from the courtyard that this looks like a very personal confrontation, whatever it is. When he turns back to the scene outside of the prison he wants to gasp again. 

Whatever his mother had done hadn't fully destroyed the prison, she'd just launched herself and his father out of some kind of cell. He'd hoped that wasn't the case — if she'd freed some other prisoners they might also be fighting the guards. But the amount of guards outside has quadrupled. Only one of the original ones looks like he's out of it, head up in the fountain. The other eleven have his parents circled up. 

Mom's hands are covered in water and Dad looks like he's reaching to shoot fire. He doesn't have his swords, those must have been taken away, but there's a small dagger in his hand. Still, he doesn't know what Dad can do with that, especially considering that he isn't in close-quarters with the angry earthbenders. 

He chances a look to his side and sees his aunt's men dawdling. "Hey, idiots!" He shouts. "Go help them!"

Yeah, Azula wouldn't approve of this at all. He's not surprised at all that they're doubting his orders but he doesn't have time for this. He thinks about anger, even more for this city — they've put his parents who have never done anything wrong but exist, into prison — and shoots a stream of blue fire into the courtyard, running towards his parents and into plain sight. After a second he heards resounding footsteps right behind him and he wants to smirk again.

It's Dad who sees him first and he can't quite understand his father's eyes at first; they look curious, maybe? But whatever emotion it is disappears into something that looks a little like shock when his gaze drops down to his son's flames. He looks maybe a bit disappointed. 

But it doesn't matter. It's still Dad and Mom and he's angry, and as another dozen guards flood out through the drooping metal doorway he makes fierce eye contact with the man. I'm here, he tries to say, aren't you proud of me?

Maybe he would have seen a silent response if he'd taken a second longer. But the soldiers coming in start launching balls of earth at him and he dodges one before it comes close to taking off his head. And screw you too.

The guards behind him, former Dai Li or whatever they are, aren't fighting at all. They step away from the balls coming towards them but that's it. He risks taking a second to look back at all of them. They're frozen. "Cowards! Fight them!"

None of them move and he wants to shout in anger as he dodges another boulder before shooting bursts of flame over at the couple of guards that are coming their direction. "Fight them!" He tries again in vain. 

Again, steps sound and he has hope. But the next minute, when he risks a second to look back once again as the edge of another boulder hits his arm, he realizes that the men are gone.

"Cowards!" He says, and he wants to yell again; he holds back before realizing that nobody is going to stop him from doing so and bursts of flame pass his lips. It's not quite powerful enough to actually burn any of them but it creates a wall of smoke. 

At the side he sees Dad fighting a dozen benders at once, his mouth exhaling bursts of flame. There are two swords in his hands that aren't his dao blades. They must have been taken from the soldiers as well. In the brief instant he observes he realizes that Dad isn't fighting violently, just in defense. In his peripheral vision he can see his mom sending waves out at the other soldiers, messing up their rigid stances and creating mud underfoot. She's walking toward him when suddenly something else rips through her throat.

"Zuya!"

Why would she invoke his sister's name right now?

The smokescreen is clearing up but he reuses his tactic and creates another one. The balls of earth which fly through the fog don't come anywhere near him. He thinks he might have successfully blinded them. He's never made smoke before but he supposes the dirt particles filling the air from the micro-explosions across the ground might be working in his favor.

To the side, hiding behind a tree, is Zuya. And she's on the wrong side of his mother, on the wrong side of his parents, too far away from him. She's right where the guards are and the ones to the side are staring at her too, now. It's not often you see a young girl in the middle of a fight.

"I loved you!" He hears from the side and he can see Aunt Ty fall to the ground. Azula is above her with a desperate look on her face. She's wearing the kind of emotion he sees when she tells him that he's improving. It's not like her, at all. And he can't tell, his vision's hazy, but her voice almost makes it sound like she's crying. 

“You know nothing about love.”

Azula's hands raise like she's about to finish the other woman off and he knows that he should intervene. Aunt Ty isn't family but she's been like it to him; she never enjoyed blocking him, she always tries to make his favorite foods even if she's terrible at cooking. She babysits them and teaches them acrobatic stances she learned during her time in the circus. Besides his parents she's all he's ever had here. 

Kaz doesn't have to end up doing anything because Azula moves to the side and leaves Aunt Ty where she is, panting against the ground. "Not going to finish me off?"

She sounds bitter. 

"You're not worth it," Azula sneers, and then she turns her back to the other woman to face him again. "Kazou, where are my —"

He doesn't care where her stupid guards are right now because he's remembered that Zuya is hiding behind a tree. He watches in shock as one of the guards runs up to her and catches her, pulling her into his arms, some kind of sword pulled under her chin. He sees red.

But his screen has dissolved and he's been standing for too long. The earth underneath him rumbles and tosses him to the ground. He can see the earthbender doing this ahead, his stance grounded, and shoots a flame of fire at the man's feet. When he loses it and jumps off the floor the earth rising beneath him hardens. He thinks about landing on his feet but definitely can't manage that. When he finally hits the ground, somewhere near Azula, he hears a crack and a shot of pain, unimaginably terrible, makes its way through his left arm. It feels like it shoots through his spine and he can't move, can't do anything as he sees a new scene play out in front of him. 

His mother has spikes frozen in the air, pointed at the guard holding his sister in his arms, a devilish grin on his face as he holds her closer to her. Zuya lets out a screech as she's pulled closer to him and he hears his father let out a scream of rage as he breathes out a ring of fire at the guards holding him. They fall back, several of them screaming as their flesh starts to harden. His dad burned those men, and it's terrible but that's not what's important to him.

Azula stands where his shoulder is, flames coming out of her palm, and he finds the energy to move his head to see where her gaze is located. She's staring at his sister as well, something like concern flitting across her features.

And this is a picture: him, on the ground, writhing in pain; his parents and his rather evil aunt standing poised at a man who's holding his sister with the threat of death; one of his aunts reaching out to Zuya on the ground, her eyes dilated; the rest of the men staring at their comrade at the tree. 

There is a tree somewhere on fire and dawn is suddenly here. The sun is on his face and he realizes that he hasn't missed it very much. It's anger that's driving him, not light.

"Zuya!" Someone yells out, and he realizes it's Ty Lee, who's laying across the ground. He doesn't know what they're going to do.

"Let her go," says someone else, and it's his mother. "We'll go back, we'll go with you. Let her go."

He can't begrudge them this. If he could get up right now, if he could speak, he would think he could sell his soul to get his sister back. His sister, whose face has turned from fear to something set in stone.

Kazou hasn't realized that there is another silent conversation taking place between eyes here because he's been focused on the man holding Zuya. His parents are watching like hawks and they can't see everything. But he sees Azula place her foot firmly against the ground, sees his sister's left arm twitch, and he prays to all the spirits he can think of.

He prays to the Blue Spirit, first of all, his sister's hero. He pictures the ugly blue mask Mom once drew for them and holds his breath and says everything he can in a few seconds. She's done nothing wrong. She's good. Please don't —  

Azula lets out a stream of flame towards Zuya and the soldier and his mother screams. It's heart wrenching, terrible, and as the flames intermix with the man's hastily constructed walls and a dust cloud settles over the place where they were both once standing, a tree on fire, he lets out one of his own as well even though he knows that there is — 

And then he thanks the spirits because his sister has rolled to the side, her features covered in mud and her fingers pointed up. He can almost hear her heavy breathing from here. The soldier is on the ground, his legs void beneath him. Some of the earthbenders behind him start moving forward and he takes in a deep breath before kicking out flames from his feet, facing them.

His faith was well-placed; for whatever reason Zuya had looked into Azula's eyes and they'd found a solution to this. She hadn't looked at their parents even though they were too far away anyway. She hadn't looked at him or Aunt Ty. She'd looked at Azula.

This moment feels like too much and he wonders if Zuya really is something else. But it's interrupted by a series of ice darts swaying above his head, changing their aim towards his aunt. 

In the moment he doesn't realize what he’s doing. He doesn't even consider how different the situation might look to his parents; from their perspective Azula had just tried to kill Zuya. It's too much to comprehend and he doesn't have the seconds to think about it. He raises a single arm and shoots, and all of the darts turn into steam and drift away in the air. And better that, too, because Azula isn't looking at the action at all. She's still staring at Zuya, who's turned up and is panting, her face covered by dirt.

He wonders if they see themselves in each other. He wonders what that means. But he doesn't have time to think about that anymore, either, because then Zuya runs to Aunt Ty's side and the remaining soldiers start to attack again. His mother is staring at him, clearly disappointed, and he doesn't dwell on it. He struggles himself to his feet and pulls his limp left arm across his body, turning his right out to blow another layer of flames at the earthbenders. He's too slow to dodge a boulder at his left and he's about to accept his fate when it bursts apart. Blue fire. Azula is with him.

Whatever has happened makes all of them fiercer and his aunt is a formidable bender; they don't defeat the rest of the soldiers, this strange grouping of his parents and him and his aunt, but they hold them off until his mother freezes the ground underneath them, changing the mud to a slippery slope. They all start falling on top of each other, losing focus. 

He's never comprehended his mother's power before but it's truly incredible. He can't quite comprehend the amount of focus needed to freeze such a large area, to keep it up. Azula grabs his right arm and pulls him with her, her grip on him tight, as they sprint down to where they came from. The main gate.

"No!" He says without thinking when he turns back and sees Ty Lee on her feet, holding a Zuya who looks relatively unharmed. His mother is with them and his father is staring out at them both leaving, another undecipherable look on his face. Maybe it's hatred. Maybe something else. 

My own father, he realizes, thinks I'm a monster.

"You got us in this mess," she mutters and digs her nails into his skin. One of them is cracked and he knows it'll leave a mark. "We are leaving. Now. I have my personal agents waiting outside the gates. And they're loyal," she hisses and he can't fault her for that. Her guards here were idiots, were cowards. But . . .

"I need to see them!"

"Azula!"

That makes her pause and Kaz shudders. The way his father says her name sounds so terrible. And it's obviously bad enough for her to release her hold on him. He takes the moment to clutch his injured arm to his chest. The adrenaline in his blood is going down and now it hurts like nothing physical he's ever felt.

"I win, Zuzu." That used to be his nickname for Zuya. It doesn't feel right.

"Kaz," he won't turn around. He won't. "Kaz, listen to me."

He does and then immediately wants to look back because that horrible feeling is back, like Dad is thinking what's wrong with my son?

"Kaz," and he sounds earnest, holds out a hand, his face bleeding and hair flopping over his eyes. "I don't know what she's telling you but she's lying, okay? Azula -- Azula always lies."

"And that's rich coming from you," her voice is deadly. "I'm the one who told him the truth, Zuko."

If only she wasn't right. "We'll fix this, okay?"

"No," he whispers to that, "no. I'm — I'm going, okay? I'm going to do what you couldn't do. What you were too weak to do."

The words are vindictive and he feels them pierce his father's exterior. He shouldn't feel good about this.

"Don't do this, Kaz." And that's his mother who's walked up behind his father, her hands open and her eyes pleading. Please, she's saying, please. "This will destroy you."

"I love you," Dad tries. "I can't let you do this."

He quivers as Azula grabs his arm again, the left one. It pains but that fuels him. He addresses his mother. "You said that you'd love me no matter what."

"I —"

She doesn't finish the sentence and that's all he needs to hear. "You said —" he chokes out, and then turns around again. The sun is beating down on him. He could have woken up peacefully today. 

"We'll always love you. I meant it, Kaz!"

Azula's claws dig deeper into his fingers and he lets her drag her away. "No, she didn't," he grumbles, and for once she doesn't give him a dark response. She runs a hand through his hair in a way that feels almost familiar.

"Ready to meet your real destiny?"

"Yeah," he looks out at the gate that will mark his exit. "Yeah, I am."

Chapter Text

"It's gone."

"You're sure?"

Katara would roll her eyes at him but neither of them are ready to go back to their relatively normal emotional states. She's trying to busy herself, trying to forget about the way her son had looked at her before grabbing Azula's arm and walking away into the sunrise, trying to forget how she'd just stood there and watched him leave. They both had.

Something had tied her to the ground in that instant and frozen her feet, hadn’t let her complete her sentence. Of course she loves her son — she doesn’t know how he could ever doubt her. But her words had died on her lips when she’d realized that it didn’t matter how either of them felt. Kaz had already made his decision.

And her heart aches but she’s strong, so she’d finished the battle and ran to Zuya and Ty Lee and left Zuko to stop his sister. But she hadn’t expected to see the broken look on his face when he started talking to them, like every word Kaz was saying was tearing him apart. Her son's eyes were cold and his posture was straight and he was a stranger. 

She should have reached out, should have fought Azula, should have — should have done anything. But she hadn't and he'd walked through the gates and they'd just stood there in the rising light for a minute until Ty Lee and Zuya walked up next to them and the concussed woman noted that they should plan to leave the city or at least go into hiding.

Zuko is going through Kaz's room, throwing random items of his into one of the sacks they'd brought from the tea shop. He pokes his head up from behind the door frame, his eyes solemn, as he takes in the terrified expression on her face. "Where—where could it have gone?"

"I don't know," she groans, and that feeling — the realization that she thought she knew but she didn't and she still doesn't — makes her choke on the tears she's been holding back. They need to leave immediately, need to make their way out of the city, need to leave everything they've built up. She can't do this. She just lost her baby and she's going to lose this home and everything she's built up so carefully. They can't take their things, can't take the murals on the walls or the delicate glass Zuko blows outside, can't take all of Kazou and Zuya's stuffed animals, can't take all the memories she's built here. They need to leave, and she knows this, but it still burns. "We couldn't have lost it. Could we have?"

"Is your necklace still there?"

She holds up the water tribe pendant clutched in her fist, her grandmother's betrothal necklace. It reminds her of Pakku, of Kanna, of Hakoda and Kya, all the people she's tried to forget. "It's here."

"Then I . . . do you think . . ."

Of course Kaz ran away with the tile, she wants to laugh. Of course, because this can't possibly get any worse and he took their hopes with him like he took a part of her. "It's likely."

"Well," Zuko shudders. "I suppose we'll have to be distinctive enough. The scar should still be known."

Her hands quake as she moves to the kitchen and starts taking out dried food, the nuts and fruits and meat she's stored here. When the sack — large and tan with Omashu Tea Imports written on it — is almost full she debates throwing a can of spices in and decides to do it, remembering Zuko's taste-buds on Ember Island. More of the past coming back.

"You don't think he's dead, do you? You went a few years ago and he was old, wasn’t he?"

"We need to try anyway," she breathes out, hoisting the bag over her shoulder as he walks out from their room, clothes piled across his back, and nods at her. "Zuya! Are you . . ."

Her daughter slugs out of her room, tugging her bag besides her, still looking slightly queasy. Zuko passes by her as she comes out to ensure that she isn't missing anything imperative and Katara takes that minute to kiss her on the head. "Strong girl," she whispers, pulling her close to her chest. She'd been too close to losing another child today. She shouldn't have lost the one.

She won't break down in front of her daughter, she won't, even as searing pain splits her heart into two and silent tears track down her cheeks. They need to leave. They can't waste time like this. She knows that. But she's been moving, been strong ever since they left the Upper Ring, and she needs a moment to herself.

How did she let this happen? How didn't she notice Azula's clutches? When was Kaz meeting her? Why didn't she notice his bending and consider it more than a fluke? She might be a terrible mother. Her mother sacrificed herself to save her and she stared dumbstruck as her child ran away to join the Fire Nation. She should have done something. She should have noticed something. She should have found a way to stop this.

In the Upper Ring she'd seen Kazou's bending, bright blue fire, and all she'd been able to think about was the last time she'd seen those flames; eighteen years ago at an Agni Kai that wasn't worth winning. That fire is hot, monstrous, and she'd been terrified by how well he seemed to wield it. And then he'd fallen and she'd let out a scream for her daughter with a knife to the throat and her son laying prostrate under her nemesis, maybe in the same situation. And then Azula had tried to kill his sister and he'd protected her.

Is she missing something? How did she fail this terribly? How did she see none of the signs? How . . .

Zuko's standing behind them, tears in his eyes as well, and he drops the clothing and wraps them both tightly in his arms. His hair pushes against her forehead and she feels wetness; he's crying a silent river as well. 

"He told me he was going to do what I was too weak to do," he whispers. The words are meaningless to Zuya but she knows how much they must be burning. Even so, she doesn't have it in her to comfort him right now. Not like this. So she just wraps another arm around him, pulling tight, trying to let him understand what she means.

"We're going to get him. We're going to — we are, Zuko. We are."

"Yeah," he shudders and pulls away, stroking Zuya's hair. Her face is buried in her mother's chest. "We have to go back."

He picks up the clothing he'd dropped on the floor and moves back, lightly laying a hand on Zuya's shoulder to have her come with him. Katara stands there for another moment, light dancing out of the hall windows. Something glints and she glances down to realize that she's still holding her necklace.

She puts it on.

"This is so weird," he says again even though he doesn't really need to because he's made his feelings on this situation clear. Kaz thinks it's blatantly obvious that he's trying to fill the void in himself with meaningless chatter. Unfortunately, the fact holds that Azula isn't usually a fan of such things.

But she reaches out and feels the metal with a smile on her face. "This is just a trace of what you'll see in the Fire Nation, Kaz. We're much more advanced than the other nations. We're better."

"What about the water tribes?"

She shrugs. "The Southern Water Tribe is all but gone and the Northern Water Tribe has a peace agreement with us. Waterbenders are the only other type of bender to be respected. It's understandable that you are half water tribe. Not ideal, but understandable. Earth and airbenders are worthless."

"Is that why they're all gone?"

She shrugs. "The airbenders were weak. The earthbenders have their stronghold but I toppled over Ba Sing Se's walls once and I'll do it again."

"You never told me about that. What exactly happened?"

He doesn't care too much about this story but it'll keep him distracted. He keeps seeing his mother's blue eyes flashing in his mind, keeps seeing his father staring at him, thinking monster monster monster. 

"Before the Earth King had his soldiers or any power whatsoever he had the Dai Li. They were earthbenders, weak, but they did have a special sort of Fire Nation aggressiveness I was fond of at the time. I suppose that's gone," she frowns again. "Weaklings. I was using some of them, of course, but I overestimated their use."

"And?" he prompts.

"Oh, well, the Dai Li at the time of the war were incredibly corrupt and led by some strange man who essentially ruled Ba Sing Se in place of the king. I tricked him into pretending we were working together and then took all of his men."

"And he was okay with that?"

"Well, no," she picks at her broken nail. "But he eventually started to understand that I had the divine right to rule the city and he didn't. He was nothing. A peasant," she sniffs. "Not like you or me."

"And he just . . . let you have it?"

"It's my right," she shrugs. "We have the right blood, Kazou. We always win and we always come first. And it's important that the rest of the world realizes that. He came to his senses, that's all."

The emptiness at the bottom of his soul is being filled again with some twisted type of hope. He's not doing anything wrong. This is his, his birthright. And if Azula took Ba Sing Se once, proved the worthlessness of the city and its government, ruled it, then he can truly look up to her. He understands.

When he bends his head out the window he's surprised to see that the rough grounded walls of the city are too far away to see. The tank moves fast and dust, sand, fills the air behind him. He didn't get a chance to say goodbye and for a second he regrets it. And then his lips twist as he comes to another realization:

He'll be back. 

Chapter Text

—two months later—  

Kaz flips another piece of bread into the water, watching as the chattering turtleducks swim over to it. Their conflict ends when a larger duck, a mother or a father, moves them aside and picks up the food itself, using its mouth to cut it into tiny pieces. They’re strange creatures, turtleducks, but he likes spending time with them all the same. They’re the only ones here who don’t expect anything of him. He can relax here.

He settles back down, lying on the grass. His robes are going to get stained and his hair might unravel out of its tiny topknot but he could care less. Let them see their stained and dirtied prince. He’s not going to hide anything from the staff. They have to respect him regardless and he’s spent too long trying to be a good son and not being who he is.

The sun’s setting overhead so he uses the last of its energy to light up a ball of fire in his palm after throwing the large remaining chunk of bread he’d gotten from the kitchens to the ducks. Their squabbling distracts them from the flames he’s holding, or they would be scared of him too. Like everyone else. He doesn’t quite like how everyone is scared of him here.

Abstractly he has everything he could ever need except for his family and he’ll go back to get them one day too. But having respect and power and importance hasn’t been as fulfilling as he expected it to be. It’s boring, that’s what it is — he misses Zuya shouting at him and his parents’ strict scoldings. He doesn’t enjoy them, never had, but they were signs of normalcy. Yes, he didn’t live a normal life in Ba Sing Se, but a life as the Fire Nation’s Crown Prince isn’t exactly easy either. It’s better but it’s worse in a different way.

He used to deal with whispers on the streets and the terrified glances he was given for being an ‘other’. He’d thought, always, that being in the Fire Nation would mean he could leave that behind. But he’s still an ‘other’, and his aunt is the Fire Lord, and everyone here is still scared of him. It’s not too bad a feeling, definitely wasn’t at first, but it’s starting to grate on his nerves. Once he was treated like an ignorant child, like an outsider. Now he is here and he has everything but he’s still an insolent child to the nobles and generals and guards of the palace. 

He doesn’t think they respect him so much as they fear him. And he’d wanted that in the Earth Kingdom. He couldn’t have anything else because of his eyes or the color of his skin so he’d wanted fear, at least. But fear is getting old. He doesn’t quite understand how Azula does it, spends her days shouting out cool orders and burning those who get too close. He misses the intimacy of family.

Every night before he went to sleep his parents would tell him and Zuya a story. Whether it was about the Blue Spirit or flying animals or swamps or ice floes they would say mystical tales. Well, Mom would, at least — Dad was never good with words. And he misses those stories, those strange escapes into another timeline. He thinks some part of himself had thought that Azula’s tale was a fantasy, that he couldn’t truly be a prince. But now he’s here and he’s realizing that’s not true and that he could be a character in some kid’s nighttime story. 

The forgotten prince, he thinks as the sun finally falls. He extinguishes his palm and shakes out the crumbs in his hands into the water before carefully getting up. Yes, there are stains all over his clothing. Mom would have been so mad if he’d gotten his clothes dirty like this and she’d fix them. But here he has a collection of servants who manage his rooms and things like his laundry and they won’t say a word.

He should go back . . . to his rooms. One of the many assistants who runs through the halls will likely tell him that he needs to join some sort of dinner with his aunt and her generals. Her is a stretch — for all of Azula’s insanity he thinks she truly underestimated how vile those men are. He wonders what they spread out of the palace and he’s surprised they didn’t attempt to execute a coup in her absence. But then they wouldn’t have to. She bends to most of their wills anyway. 

He groans as he gets up, glad the courtyard is empty, and takes his hair out of this terrible style. His crown digs into his skin and is patently uncomfortable but he won’t ever take it off. It’s a representation of everything he’s gained. So he puts it back into a sloppy knot that will surely terrorize his maidservant and steps down the hall to his rooms. There are two maids standing behind one of the pillars who duck out of the way when he walks past. He almost pays them no heed until he hears a giggle as he steps forward. He’s bitter and angry today. He usually is. And while he doesn’t normally pick fights with young girls he’s willing to make an exception today.

“Hey!” He barks. The sound stills and can tell that they’re trying to stay still behind the pillar. “I know you’re there.”

As Kaz realizes that they’re not going to acknowledge his presence he grunts and steps brisky to the side, rounding the large chunk of stone itself to see the girls, about his age, suddenly look afraid. And then he feels bad again. He should be angry at them because they’re probably laughing at him but he doesn’t want to be needlessly mean. 

At the end his vindictive side comes out. He’s starting to get a little tired of bossing people around but right now it’s fine. He can’t grab them, he will never be that type of person, but he pulls himself up to his rising height and crosses his hands over his chest in a gesture that he hopes is assertive. He’s sure that’s not the reason they’re cowering anyway. “What were you saying?”

“N—nothing, Prince Kazou,” one of them chokes out, her golden eyes wide, and he doesn’t really know where to go from here.

“I’m sure nothing isn’t the reason you were laughing,” he snarls. “Tell me.”

And then the other one, silent so far, just points up to his head where his tufts of hair are spilling out of his topknot. It’s clear what she’s referencing and he almost blushes red with embarrassment before trying to scholarly calm himself. “You won’t talk of such things again,” he hisses, and the first girl flinches.

“Yes, Prince.”

The other one doesn’t speak at all, just grabs her friend’s arm and starts tugging her away. They’re both holding baskets of laundry. He thinks they might be his clothes and this time he does turn bright crimson. It’s different when your mother is touching your underwear. It doesn’t matter whether or not they’re servants — no fourteen-year-old wants girls his age touching his clothing.

But at the end of the day they’re successfully cowed, he thinks bitterly at their receding backs. Congrats, Kaz. You’ve terrorized more people. That’s all you can do. Nobody likes you.

He’s been pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind for a long time. His parents no longer like him, his sister and Aunt Ty don’t. His peers never did, nor did the tea shop regulars. He’s just never been approachable. And he’d wanted to come to the Fire Nation to be able to understand that sort of peer understanding, to work with others. But he thinks his only friend here might be the Fire Lord and that actually isn’t that amazing. He hasn’t even met any firebenders his own age. The only people in this palace his age are the servants; everyone else is much older than him. He’s certain there’s a Fire Nation school that their children go to but he’s too old for that.

He has the barebones of an Earth Kingdom education and he doesn’t understand Fire Nation policy at all. And he’s been trying — he has tutors and an aide to help him with acclimatization — but even if he can understand the strange wordings of trade agreements easily nothing is teaching him how to be a friend. He wants firebending peers. 

Kaz has been realizing that what he wanted was people who understood him and a supportive environment. The Fire Nation court is a different game altogether. He doesn’t have to be particularly sane but he knows that if he wasn’t powerful and rude he would have no power here. Nothing here works right. But he also doesn’t want to go home because this is his responsibility now. 

He slides open his door, ignoring the guard outside who also does a double-take at his messy hair, and collapses face first onto his bed. The last time he’d done this his mother had come in and hugged him. How long has it been since he’s been hugged? When was the last time he talked with anyone besides his aunt in crisp orders? When was the last time he — 

You should change. Your sheets are going to smell like ash.

All of a sudden he wants to choke. He always smells like ash now because he’s always bending. Training makes him forget the past. His sheets are dirty and they carry the scent of smoke whenever he wakes up and then they’re replaced when he comes back at night. It’s rhythmic. It’s what he gets, as a prince. He’s not sure but he thinks that there is a group of servants whose only job is to manage him. It’s a dream.

Except his sheets shouldn’t smell like ash. He should shower again before going to bed. He wants someone to ask him how he is and what’s wrong, ask why he’s snapping and why he’s angry, but nobody will. Nobody here likes him. They think he’s like Azula and they consider her just mad. They think he’s mad.

He buries his face in his pillow for a moment, breathing hard. Maybe he is mad. He doesn’t know. He didn’t run away for this, to be an outsider in a kingdom. He wanted friends and he wanted to be free. He has too much time to think. He doesn’t have enough time to be anything. And he can’t change.

His parents would be disappointed in the person he is but if he isn’t this boy — Crown Prince Kazou, not Kaz, the tea guy’s son — then he’ll get run over by everyone else here. And gossip spreads so he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do because nothing makes sense anymore. 

There’s a knock at the door and he doesn’t open it. “What?” he asks, and then realizes he’s currently smothering himself into his pillow. He lifts his head up and tries to yell without letting whoever’s there understand what the tilt of his tone means. “What do you want?”

“The Fire Lord says you must attend tonight’s private dinner with Lords Nen and Jinu. She issues a reminder to ensure that you prepare fully.”

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t but sometimes he fears what his aunt will do if she’s left alone without her private advisors for too long. He’d thought for the longest time that she was a strong Lord but he’s realized she’s as much a puppet here as he is. Only he knows it. Divine right to rule, yes. A strange world it is.

Something drips onto the pillow beneath him. It’s a teardrop. He has been crying and now there are likely tracks across his face. And now he’s expected to be dressed and ready for dinner. But he can’t have his aide see him like this, so he drags himself out of his bed, slipping off the crimson covers. Such a height of luxury, only they feel like sandpaper against him. They feel wrong.

There’s an armoire on his room’s side which has a mirror on the side of it, carved of something flammable and he goes over to it, stares at himself in the reflection. He used to see his dad’s face. He used to see his mother’s lips and Zuya’s smile. When was the last time he smiled? Not only are tear tracks running down his face but water is still brimming in his eyes. He reached a hand up and wipes off his eyelids, wipes off his face until his cheeks are flushed and his eyes look even more bleary. He can’t let anyone see him like this.

Why not? He thinks bitterly. Everyone here lets me do anything — except be weak. He can’t be weak. He’s so trapped. Even though this cage is gilded and golden. It’s better, he gazes at his reflection, at his choppy hair, straight lips, his appearing cheekbones. He’s not just a kid. This is still better. They treated me like I was glass and now that’s everything I can’t be. He’s strong. He’s not just fourteen.

And then he’s startled out of his reverie by someone knocking on the door. “Prince Kazou,” he hears, and that’s his aide Ryozo. “Are you once again in need of assistance —”

One, two three he counts, reaching for his eyes one last time and swiping across them. Maybe they’ll look like they’re swollen from anger and not a breakdown. “Come in, Ryozo. I’ll need you to fix my hair.”

He has a dinner to get to, after all.  

Chapter Text

“Can I —”

“Yes.”

“What?” he frowns and pauses near the entrance to the room, staring across at Azula’s wall of fire. He would’ve talked to her outside of her rather formal showing hours but his question is time-intensive (or rather, he’s impatient) and he thinks that this is the way they’re technically supposed to communicate. The sheer idea of Azula being rather relaxed in terms of protocol is funny, but he supposes that if what he reads in his books is true she is. “You didn’t even listen —”

“Prince Kazou,” she says, a strangely exhausted lilt to her tone, “as long as you abide by your protocol and continue training with your hours, do whatever you want. I don’t have time for your incessant requests on allowance. I’m not your mother.”

One of his feet clangs on the marble floor, stepping back. Has he bowed yet? No, he hasn’t. He should do that. He quickly falls to his knees and starts counting out the seconds on the ground, letting the numbers pass through his mind. He doesn’t really want to think about what she’d just said. I’m not your mother. No, she’s not. Has he been treating her like one? He winces. Yes, a bit, and that’s hilarious. Azula is definitely not mother material. 

Of course she isn’t actually his mother, who has dark brown hair and kind eyes and a crinkled smile. Azula rarely smiles and doesn’t touch him. She seems to stand him at best. Maybe he’s overthinking how much she cares about him at all.

“Get off the floor, Kaz. Go. I have advisors to deal with.”

At least she doesn’t sound that terribly condescending. He quickly nods and doesn’t look up again before running through the pillars that make up the room’s side. At least he’s been given the go-ahead. Perhaps this was good; she might have denied him if he’d finished his question. Can I go to the prison? Can I talk to your old guard? I want to know about the Blue Spirit. It’s a true story.

Yes, it’s fine like this. She might have denied him if he’d finished speaking. It still slightly burns, though, and his lips tighten as he starts towards the weapons room. He’s already completed several hours of bending practice so now he gets to use his swords.

Technically nobody in the palace is aware that he’s Zuko’s son. Technically. But it’s obvious who he is, and he’s heard enough rumors to prove that the vast majority of the staff, at least, are aware. He hadn’t helped the matter by starting to train with weapons, the tools of a nonbender, apparently how his father used to. 

He’s already done enough research to know that the Blue Spirit was one of the most wanted vigilantes in the Fire Nation for a time. He’d once freed the Avatar. But the records of his actual sightings — if there even is more than one — will be kept in the archives near the prison. So he’ll need to go there. The sun is almost peaking overhead, so that means that he has a few hours to practice and go through his inane and yet important etiquette lessons before leaving. But it’s also lunchtime — perhaps he should go get something to eat before starting. He’s hungry too.

He taps his fingers on a nearby column, deliberating, until the small pangs of his stomach win out and he decides to turn back to one of the tearooms. He’s sure the chefs will have something ready for him, hot and spicy in a way Mom was never able to cook. Fire Nation cuisine scalded his insides at first but now it’s fine.

And then when he turns around his stomach suddenly settles. “Lord Nen?”

“Prince Kazou,” the portly old man laughs through his thin lips. “How great to see you here.”

He mockingly bows and Kaz has to hold himself in. It’s not the lack of formality, the way his head doesn’t bend too far to the ground. It’s the tone, the condescension. He straightens up so that he has a small advantage in terms of height and stares the man in the eye. “I could say the same, Lord Nen. I live here. Why have we been . . . sent your presence today?” 

He’s snapping, which is fine, because Lord Nen is the worst of Azula's sycophants possibly because it’s never clear whether or not he is one. On one hand he’s a simpering fool; on the other he’s quick to undermine Kaz’s authority and make rather encompassing statements. He’s in Azula’s block of the council but he still feels like an enemy and he makes the prince want to shake. But he can’t do that so he lets all of his energy go by flexing his fingers behind his back as the other man’s eyes twinkle. “Cursory rounds, Prince. Regular duties.”

“And those would —”

“Terribly boring things, Prince. I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

What would Azula say? That’s starting to be one of the games he plays with himself. “Don’t interrupt me, Nen. What are you doing here?”

He holds up a hand, his greying hair brushing against the collar of his ostentatious robes, trimmed and full of far too many colors. “I apologize, Prince. I only mean to bring reports back to the palace for the Fire Lord.”

Reports on what Kaz wants to ask, but asking too many questions would make it seems like he perceives the wily and disrespectful old man as a threat. Which he doesn’t. Not very much. He’s less of a worry than the clear softliners and the people’s representatives. Nen wants to uphold the status quo, and Azula has to rest with that even if she doesn’t completely agree. 

“Alright,” he says shortly and turns away, only for Nen to place his large and greasy hand on his shoulder, over his robes. He tries really hard to hold in his shudder but something escapes — he smells like death.

“And what would you be doing, Prince?”

“None of your concern, Nen, but I’m going to go get myself some tea.” Yes, tea, he thinks. The way we make it in the shop, a calming kind. Tea reminds him of the shop and of Mom and Dad. He likes going to the kitchens and boiling the water himself, letting it cool just a little before adding the leaves and then drinking it. The staff don’t really mind, are almost used to it.

“Ah, tea,” he smirks before leaning in and whispering into Kaz’s ear. “A love of tea runs in the family, doesn’t it? General Iroh had quite a taste for it, although Prince Zuko and the Fire Lord never cared much for it.”

“Fantastic,” he tries to move away but to no avail; his shoulders are being gripped tightly. It’s absolutely inappropriate for him to be manhandled like this (and he’s sure that he read in one of his books the other day that it’s illegal). He can’t exactly offend Nen terribly but if that man doesn’t stop right — “Wait. General Iroh?”

His father had told him about his ‘father’, a man who taught him about dragons and tea, and Azula had later claimed that this was his great uncle, our infernal uncle, General Iroh.

If the stories his father told him are true then the man was virtually his father. They built a life in the Earth Kingdom colonies together, and the man was a fan of proverbs and jasmine tea. He’d had a tea shop. He’s sure the majority of that is a lie and yet . . . “Yes, of course. General Iroh, the Dragon of the West? I’m sure someone of your illustrious upbringing knows all about him. We went to the academy together, all those years ago,” he lips twist. “A pity what happened to him.”

“What happened to him?” he asks with underlying excitement, belying his interest in the subject. He willfully ignores the look he’s given; like he’s just been caught. It’s okay for Nen to realize his ancestry. Kaz still won’t outright admit it and that’s fine. He can deal with the man’s hand for another minute, with his awful stench.

“I’m not sure, really, if he’s dead or in prison. Considering nobody has come for him I’ll admit that I think he’s probably rotting away in a cell.”

His heart pangs but he can’t say anything out loud. He doesn’t know Iroh, doesn’t know his great-uncle, but if what Dad said is true — and for whatever reason he feels like this part may be correct — then he definitely doesn’t deserve life and death in prison. He remembers his father telling him about the man who helped him with his sword fighting, who constantly lifted him up, who taught him that firebending came from the breath. The man loved the game with the tiles, Pai Sho, even if Dad never did. He was a good person. Good people don’t deserve to rot like that.

“I see,” he speaks through his teeth before pushing aside Nen roughly, not allowing himself to ask the man another question. He shouldn't mix personal and political matters. He’s relatively surprised when he’s let go. But then he hears a telltale cough from the corridor he’s almost sprinted across. 

“You see, Prince Kazou, the former General Iroh is kept at the bottom of the Caldera City Prison. The highest security there is, of course. Only the royal family is allowed in. And I know that the Fire Lord doesn’t care about him so it’s likely he’s dead. Or mad,” he laughs. “Guards make for terrible company.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he hates how he sounds like a boy, how he feels like he should know the answer to this question. He doesn’t want to turn around and belay the confusion and terror he knows is written across his features. 

“You should know about high-profile cases as the Crown Prince. It’s your duty to ensure that the prisoners stay prisoners. They’re the highest enemies of the state.”

“I’m well aware,” he chokes out and makes a move forward before a darker tone eclipses the man’s political play. 

“I am loyal to the Fire Lord.”

That makes him stare back, his eyebrows narrowed into a hard line. “Never doubt my loyalty to this nation and the Fire Lord, Nen. You’re speaking out of place.”

“I’m sure I am,” he speaks calmly. “You would do well to prove me incorrect.”

The insinuation is clear. “I have to prove nothing to you. You have no idea what I’ve done so far for this nation and for the Fire Lord and what I’m willing to do. I’ve given up — I’ve given up everything.”

His stutter has almost completely gone away. Azula says that strong speech and conviction is something he must have as Crown Prince. He’s the Crown Prince.

He has given up everything for the Fire Nation. He left everything behind and he hasn’t found himself here at all — so what’s left but to be a good ruler? At least he can keep fear, can keep power, can stay strong. Once upon a time the insinuation that he couldn’t be a good bender was what burned. Now the sheer feeling that he might be inept in this role that belongs to him . . . that might be worse.

“To serve the Fire Nation is a gift, Prince Kazou.”

He doesn’t answer, just stalks out into the sun and into the next wing of the palace. Nen can construct whatever he wants out of his silence. 

Chapter Text

“Visitors aren’t allowed to —”

“Do I look like a visitor to you?”

“But — oh, I’m so sorry, Prince,” the man at the counter quakes, his eyes wide in fear. He looks like most guards at prisons do — rather bored, like he’s been sitting here for ages. And if Nen was correct and only the royal family is allowed to come down here then it’s likely nobody has been here in years. He doubts Azula makes it a priority to go down to the Caldera City Prison and talk with the high security prisoners. 

“I’m sure you are. I’m here to see . . . General Iroh?” he speaks with confidence even though he’s unsure of the man’s title and frankly whether or not he’s alive. “Immediately.”

If possible he looks even more fearful, his helmet slipping partly off his head as he sloppily gets out of his chair and bows. Kaz would comment on the lack of professionalism like Azula would except he really doesn’t care as long as he gets what he needs. Besides, this guy just runs administration. The weight of his crown is heavy on his head.

“General Iroh, sir? Are you sure? He has not has visitors in —”

“Do I look unsure? I want to have a private conversation with General Iroh.” Who seems, by the sound of it, to be alive. Thank Agni.

“Sir, the Fire Lord —”

“I’ve passed this visit by her, not that it matters. Now, are you going to take me or shall I get you fired?”

He almost squeaks before bowing again, righting his helmet and running out the large door on the other side of the room. Kaz sighs and plops himself into the creaky chair across from the table. He’s sweating; they’re underground and there’s no air flowing through this stone prison. His robes are heavy and weigh him down, so he stays as still as possible, trying to reign in his fiery insides. 

This lower floor of the prison is much less busy than the others — he’d only seen three guards on his way here, and besides the one manning the desk he thinks there may only be one other one. They all seem weary and bored and not at all like they’re fighting, so he’s a bit worried that the man is dead or something very close to it. There’s no reason for them to be so off-kilter.

Then the guard returns with a solemn face and bows, this time properly, and gestures for him to step up and join him into the prisoner’s corridor. So he does, fighting the urge to take off his layers and bare his sweat-soaked skin. The posture these harsh layers enforce isn’t the easiest thing to spend days in either. He definitely doesn’t get how Azula manages to do this; the Fire Nation has wet heat. 

The corridor is dimly lit, just enough so that he can barely make out three or four rickety cells before he’s guided through the corner to a last one. His eyebrows narrow as the guard bows once more and leaves.

There’s a pudgy old man in the cell, his hair long and graying as his back is on a collection of blankets and cushions against the wall. He’s hard to make out, so Kaz holds up a hand and lights up a lamp in the corner. He’d thought Iroh was asleep but he lurches when the flames unleash. “Azula?”

The word doesn’t sound broken or raspy, like it’s an unused voice. It’s rather fine. “Not Azula.”

“Ah,” and his eyes are open and his face is fully illuminated. Yes, this is an old man, and he’d known that — he would have to be, to have gone to school with Lord Nen. He is definitely old enough to be a grandfather and there are lines carved across his face, some of them from smiling. He’s wearing prison robes, blank but not tattered, like they’ve been replaced in the past few days, and he doesn’t look malnourished at all. He almost starts — but he’s unlearned most of those physical reactions lately. So Kaz just stares as he sees the man taking him in.

“My guards haven’t told me that there’s a new prince,” he says after a second. “I was unaware of your birth. Why are you here?”

The question isn’t searching, seems rather flat, so he responds. He hadn’t created a plan for this situation because he doesn’t want anything from this man. Does he? He wants to do right by the man who raised his father, maybe, but he doesn’t know what that specifically would entail. Maybe he can hear stories about his father from this man. Maybe he can free him. He doesn’t quite know Iroh but he’s clouded over by respect. “I wanted to meet you.”

“I see,” he adjusts himself against his sheets, pushing a pillow to his side. The position looks incredibly uncomfortable. The entire situation does. “And your mother is okay with this?”

“My mother — what? Oh. Azula . . . isn’t my mother.”

Iroh crosses his arms, still well-spoken even if he hasn’t left this room in something like two decades. “She isn’t? Then why are you the Crown Prince?”

“I —” he doesn’t know what to say. “I know you.”

“Young man, you seem rather decent and I certainly wasn’t expecting this. But I will have to admit that I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

Again, his tone is a strange kind of consoling that settles over him, calms him. He’s struggling to talk again, to put himself into words. “No, I know . . . my dad. He used to tell me about you?”

“Well, I’m sure whoever your father is taught you about the Dragon of the West and now you’re a little disappointed. I have no regrets, Prince. But tell me, how are you wearing that crown if you are not Azula’s child?”

Kaz sits down cross-legged on the floor between the prison bars and the man with the strange glint in his eyes, who doesn’t quite look defeated yet. “My father’s name is Zuko.”

“Zuko?” he’s questioned back after a second, and Iroh looks like he’s fondly remembering something and also deeply confused. “Ah, your father was named after my nephew, was he not? I miss him dearly.”

How does he phrase this? He slides off one of his upper layers and reaches out a hand to the other lamp in the corner, illuminating his face. It’d been dark before, only Iroh’s part of the room lit. Then he hears a gasp and some kind of whisper.

Kaz’s shoes scoff the dust. “No, my dad’s your . . . your nephew.”

Another sound, like he’s inhaling dust, before Iroh breathes again. “It feels impossible to believe but you look just as he did. Before I lost him. I lost him. He’s . . .”

“Dad’s not dead,” he feels the need to interject even if he’s proof of the fact. “My mom and dad. . . they ran away to Ba Sing Se after the war. And they had me and my sister.”

A moment of silence encompasses them as Iroh traces his features once again, lingering over his eyes and his crown. “Zuko . . . is in Ba Sing Se.”

I’m not sure but I know he’s okay, because he’s Dad.  “Yeah. I . . . he used to tell me stuff about you.”

But it seems the man can’t take that shock right now. “Zuko is alive. And he has a son. You’re Zuko’s son.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Come here,” he says after the moment, speaking through something like tears. Kaz can’t tell in the dark, but he moves on the stone floor until his face is flush against the bars of the prison. It’s strange, such a strange instance, but he also feels drawn to the old man. And he knows that the pull won’t hurt him. It feels nice to roll with the current. Rough fingers splay across his face as he whispers. “What’s your name?”

“Kazou. Kaz.”

“Ah,” he smiles through the moisture on his cheeks. “And you’re Katara’s son too, aren’t you?”

“How do you know my —”

“There is only one person he could have run with, who he fought with. And you look a lot like your mother, too.”

He hasn’t ever heard that. It feels sort of warm. He’ll always be his mother’s son. “Why are you here? Haven’t you tried to escape?”

“Why would I try to leave? I had nothing to live for anymore.”

“So you were just going to stay here forever? You were going to give up?”

“It’s not so bad. I’m forgotten and my guards keep me company. I didn’t know anyone was alive. Kazou — Kaz, is it? — I’m an old man and my nephew was all that was important to me. I lost my son in the war and I lost Zuko as it ended.”

“Oh.”

“So, Kazou. You are the Crown Prince now? Is your father Fire Lord? My guards haven’t told me anything.” His tone is mild again, curious, but something looms beneath. Why does he feel guilty? He hasn’t done much wrong and yet he feels so guilty. The hand drops off his face and reaches out to grasp him. The fingers are worn and strong and yet frail, and Kaz holds them lightly. 

“No. Azula is the Fire Lord.”

An understanding look crosses his eyes. “And you are here and your father is in Ba Sing Se. You left him.”

“I — I had to come here. He shouldn't have left,” he tries, unable to shake off the terror he is facing in the man’s accepting eyes. His parents had looked terrified of him when he’d left and the people of the palace all fear him. He hates the calm.

“You have Azula’s fire. Her focus,” his eyebrows twist. “You are a powerful bender.”

“She taught me.”

“I see.” He doesn’t sound disappointed, isn’t afraid. He’s enlightened. Kaz isn’t grounded. “Why are you here, Kazou? You are the Crown Prince of this glorious nation. What do you have to do with an old man who’s been forgotten?”

“I’m not just a prince,” he wants to say and then does. “That’s not what — I don’t know what I mean. But I’m going to get you out of here.”

He has to. He has to get Iroh out of this cell, get this man back to the surface, give him back some of his life. Once again he’s angry at his father because if he’d tried to stay alive, if he’d won any fight, then he would be Fire Lord and he would have grown up with Iroh. This man is strong in a prison cell, secretly strong, the kind he doesn’t quite know. He takes in a deep breath and continues as Iroh starts scooting back his sheets to the back of the room. “No! Wait — Dad told me, about how you taught him about dragons and tea and firebending from the —”

Kaz can’t cite advice he no longer follows and Iroh notices this before sitting back in the corner. “I’m very fine, Kazou. I am friends with the guards and Azula cares nothing for me here. I do not need your help to escape.”

“W—what? Did you hear me? I want to get you out. You can find Dad again —”

“Kazou,” he sighs. “I am old but still capable. And your job right now is to focus on your story. You have made a mistake, have you not?”

And now he’s moving back and to the side until his back is slamming into the wall. “No. I’m — I’m fine —”

“There is great unrest in you. Handle yourself.”

“What?”

With one last friendly smile Iroh lies his head back against his cushion, face to the ground. “I’ll be sleeping, now. Shuji will let you out.”

His eyes close. Kaz stares and sits in silence for another moment because letting out an angry yell, blowing flames into the earth wall. When nothing happens he steps up and starts kicking, letting dust fly everywhere. He turns around but sees Iroh looking peacefully asleep, flipped on his side.

He picks up his outer robes from where they’re lying on the ground and snuffs out the lights, stalking back through the corridor. He’s about to pass through the door back to the administration table when he yells back into the void. “I’ll be back!”

Shuji pops up from where he’s relaxing in his seat, standing to attention. Kaz sighs as he looks him over and then reaches down for the coin-purse he’s started to carry. He tosses the entire thing to the guard, who catches it with two hands. “Get him a bed and better food. The rest is for your discretion.”

“Prince —”

“If you tell anyone I came here I will kill you myself.”

Chapter Text

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says quickly before picking up his teacup and gulping down whatever’s inside. It’s not like home, but it’s good. 

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you care?”

Azula narrows her eyes like he’s just told her something she hasn’t been considering. “I . . . do care.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“You’re my responsibility and it would be remiss if me to let you wallow like this for no reason whatsoever, rather than do anything practical with your time —”

“Who are you trying to convince?”

 She sighs even those she doesn’t quite know why. “Is there an issue I need to be addressing in court?”

“No,” Kaz grumbles. This time he picks up a pastry with some sort of custard inside of it. It’s different from home, is less sweet and more salty. “Everything is fine.”

“Oh, for Agni’s sake. It’s quite easy to see that something is amiss here and I would like to help you solve whatever problem it is.”

“Surely out of the goodness of your heart.”

She winces and he’s not sure why. “Whatever you want to believe.”

“It doesn’t matter at all,” he scoffs, picking apart a bread roll. “And it’s pointless. But today is my birthday.”

And now Azula looks scared, for whatever reason. She probably doesn’t believe in birthdays and thinks they’re meaningless. It would fit her character to absolutely detest what they stand for. And yet at the same time he feels like she must love celebrating herself. She puts her own cup down and purses her lips. “I see.”

A second passes and she looks out into the sky, suddenly ignoring him. “That’s it? You could have at least said happy birthday.”

“Yes, yes,” she puts her hands out haphazardly. “I’m trying to recall what I did for my fifteenth birthday, you see. Actually, I don’t think I did anything. It was after I’d won the war and I didn’t have time for frivolities. But perhaps my earlier ones —”

“You celebrated your birthdays?”

“Of course,” she raises her eyebrows. “I was born lucky, and you are too. Of all people in the world we are the ones who should be celebrating these days. We’re gifts to everyone.”

He wants to blush at that importance even though it does feel sort of contrived. “I’ve never had a celebration or anything. It just was me and my parents.” I’m missing them. He can’t tell her that but he’s sure it’s obvious.

“If I’d been aware of this we could have had a court celebration and a party of some sort. This is why Fire Lords have consorts,” she groans. 

“Didn’t you have Aunt Ty?” he peeps up because it’s his birthday and his right to piss her off, to elicit some sort of reaction from her that isn’t this strange almost kindness. He’s ready to be blasted back but she just puts her cup down and looks almost sad. Then she smirks and her regularly maniacal expression is back on her face, even if it does seem less intense.

“I can get one of your servants to orchestrate a dinner. We’ll invite all the noblemen and have the kitchen plan a long meal. It’s important that they understand your importance,” she ignores him before biting her lip. “You should have told me this before, Kaz. Events such as these are important for image.”

The half-eaten roll falls out of his hand and crumbs splatter across his robes. “I don’t want a dumb state dinner.”

“I’m sure you don’t. I didn’t. But that’s how our life works.”

Maybe it’s the way that today isn’t as hot as usual, maybe it’s the way his aunt looks less than harmful as she tries to be nice to him, maybe it’s the way his heart’s pounding with homesickness. “Did you have parties with your friends? When you turned fourteen or whatever?”

Again, he braces to be burned, but she looks melancholy. “I never had very many friends. And the ones who I did have betrayed me.”

“At least you had some,” he mutters. “I’m not very good at people.”

“I —” she pauses. “I dislike to admit it, but I suppose I’m not the best either.”

Azula has the same expression on her face, the one she wore when she first saw Aunt Ty. His hand stills where it’s trying to dust off his robes onto the cushions below. “I’m sorry.”

“There was this time, once, when my two friends and I went to a houseparty, undercover. I was fourteen at the time and nobody knew me by face. And they were talking to others, having others interested in them. And yet I wasn’t able to command that attention.”

“You probably just intimidate everyone.”

“Yes, I do,” she sighs and then stands up, waiting for him to join her.

“I’ll go . . . back to training now, or whatever,” he mutters. If he was with Mom and Dad today they’d be at the zoo or out for fancy food, or Dad would teach him an exciting thing to do with his bending. They’d both give him a present, an amalgamation of their skills. It would have been nice but he doesn’t want to think about it. Maybe sparring will remove that uncertainty from his mind. “Have fun with your council.”

Azula has started to insist on taking breaks every mid-morning for a few moments. She doesn’t preside over his training anymore. Ostensibly this is for her to check in with him without others watching. It would be nice to think that she doesn’t mind talking to him, but she was right that time, days ago. She’s not his mother. 

He’s looking back at his robes again, giving up on cleaning them — he’s going to change out of them anyway — when he sees a hand in front of his face. “Get up, Kazou.”

“Why?”

“I—I don’t know,” she struggles, her eyes looking much less composed than usual. This might be the first time he’s ever heard her doubt himself. “What do you like doing, Kaz?”

He takes the hand and gets up so not to leave her hanging in the air. It’s an odd question. “I. Uh, I like training. And I like bending.”

Is that a soft smile? Yes, he’s once again terrified. “I do too. Surely there’s something you enjoy, would like to see.”

She almost looks happy and he blinks blankly. Whatever she sees on him takes her out of that spell and she steps away, seeming almost unhappy. “Nevermind. I misstepped,” she sounds like she’s chastising herself and not him.

“Wait. Do you want to . . . do something with me? Like, for fun?” He’s a little amazed. And is she blushing? She’s not blushing.

“Forget it.”

“No, wait,” he steps forward, completing the distance easily. He’s still taller than her. “I . . . that’s nice.”

She turns around and crosses her arms at that. “I’m not nice. So? Is there something you want to do before tonight?”

“I don’t know. What did you want to do when you were my age?”

“My father never let me stop my training while I was here. I suppose that party was supposed to be fun. I do recall . . .” she clenches her eyes shut for a moment.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she shakes her head and stares back at him, her eyes once again glinting dangerously. He wonders what she was thinking of beforehand, the thought that left her almost vulnerable. “We did end up destroying the party, though. That was probably something like fun.”

“Destroying stuff . . . was fun?” he frowns. “I would feel bad about that.”

He probably would. Probably. 

“It’s releasing and it’s nice to have people fear you.”

“Everyone already fears me. Because I’m me,” he points out. And yeah, it’s true. Most people here haven’t seen him bending or with his swords. They’re just scared of him because of who he is.

And then her face grows devilish. “And that’s the fun part, isn’t it? Scaring people without them even knowing who you are?”

He thinks about that. “Back in Ba Sing Se — well, I guess people were still scared of me because of how I looked and my family and stuff. They weren’t scared of me. But I don’t think I’d want them to be scared of me. Or . . .” he’s realizing that he’s live-ranting to his tyrannical aunt but that isn’t stopping him. He hasn’t had his walls broken down in the longest time. Who knows what will happen when he goes back and sees Iroh tomorrow? And now he’s feeling bad that he’s hiding his escapade from Azula. But he shouldn’t. “But that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to make friends here.”

“Trust me. Friends are overrated. Fear is much better.”

He almost flinches, but her tone is so awfully resigned. “I think . . . yeah, maybe, I get that.”

Her eyes suddenly brighten, and the way she looks at him — like she’s seeing herself in him — makes him feel much better than he has been today. He might not have his family or any friends to celebrate with today, but he unexpectedly has Azula, who’s almost talking to him like she’s his age now, not his aunt, someone older than him. And she’s always been like this, even if she can be abrasive at times. So maybe she’s not his mother — at least she’s never lied to him. She can be his friend.

“Come on.”

“So. Let me get this right. You’re stealing from yourself?”

“We’re stealing from ourselves.”

“This makes literally zero sense.”

“It makes complete sense,” she snaps. “I’m not nice, but neither am I exactly going to steal from my people. We’re not in need of more pointless gold for lavish ceremonies or anything like that. And fighting my own soldiers ensures that they stay sharp. Can’t have them lazy, can I?”

He scratches his head. “Aren’t they going to complain about this to you?”

She continues over him. “And we can tell where we need to tighten security. No, I’ll be sending this one over to . . . you. You can handle this one.”

Kaz knows he’s aghast. “But I won’t be able to solve who did it!”

“Of course. You’re going to place the blame on this ship’s commander. For holding a mutiny or being weak. It’ll cement your place, and we’ll have it done before tonight. You can put him in jail as we eat dessert.”

She sounds much too happy about that prospect, and it slightly blows his mind. “That’s . . . wrong?”

They’re behind the palace, near the waters, and near where all the royal family’s private seafaring ships are kept. She ignores him once again and pulls out a tiny one from underneath one rock. It’s blank, innocuous, and doesn’t look at all like the others spread across the small cove, large and ominous. This could belong to a fisherman and it’s out of place. “Do you do this a lot?”

“No,” she huffs and places it on the shore, a part of it in the water. “But I think it’s a great idea. Oh, and happy birthday.”

He hadn’t known much of the sea before he came here, crossed the oceans and arrived at the Caldera all those months ago. He’s sure his mother would have loved it — it’s her element, and there isn’t much of it in Ba Sing Se besides the rivers which run through the dry land. When they’d made their brief trip a few years ago they’d seen some bodies of water as well, but she’d never bended near them. For the first time, he realizes that they were all a little trapped in that city. Him, his parents, and even Aunt Ty and Zuya.

They’ve both changed into light robes as the sun heightens over the horizon. He hasn’t worn clothes like this in a long time because they’re inappropriate, but nobody saw them leave anyway; they’d gone through the back. He’s wearing airy pants and a light shirt, and his aunt has her midriff exposed. He’s unsure if that’s an amazing idea but she’s flexible enough and she isn’t exactly going to get burned. They have cloth to hide their faces so that nobody realizes it’s them — luckily they don’t have very distinctive features in the first place, not like the scar.

He can’t believe he’s about to do this but some part of him is excited as she steps onto the boat and gestures for him to join. A quick outreach of her hands propels them out of the cove and into the Fire Nation’s bright blue waters, and he frowns at the flames. “Isn’t our fire really distinctive?”

She just grins. “Control,” she says, and when she opens her hands again her fire is orange in front of his face. He frowns. 

“How do you do that?”

She gestures to the bottom of the flame, which is still blue. It’s hard to tell from the smallest distance. “Just a bit of control. Your fire is you. I haven’t often needed to hide my flames, and we won’t need to use them very much,” she gestures to the blade attached to his back. “You can use your sword if you can’t do it.”

“I can do it,” he insists, and she crosses one hand over her chest as the other propels them forward, raising her eyebrow in a silent challenge. He hisses and concentrates for a moment, and when his fire exits his hand again it’s still blue. “What?”

“Control,” she almost sings and he grunts before thinking about the stupid staff and the answers he needs from Iroh and . . . how much he misses his parents. His fire fizzes white and she looks intent. “That’s fine, for now.”

“Whatever,” he settles down against the metal railing of the small craft. “Where are we going?” he asks to no avail.

He has to admit that the Fire Nation’s scenery is breathtaking, even if the humid weather makes him sick. They cross rocks covered in moss and the very air seems alive, moist and with churning waters. And yet it’s also dangerous; Azula’s flames help with direction, and without them fueling the waters he feels like he would have definitely hit something now. 

“You should be doing this,” she sighs as she makes her way around another part of the cliff. “But today is a celebration of you, I suppose.”

“I do like training. I can do it!” And sure, this is a new skill. She looks at him strangely, peacefully.

“It’s irrelevant now. The ship should be around this rock, according to the naval reports.”

He scratches his head and carefully rises as they come to a stop. He’s lucky he doesn’t have seasickness. “Wait, so what exactly are we doing?”

“This ship carries . . .” she fishes a piece of paper out of her pocket, “our rice supply.”

“Rice is heavy. How are we going to give people rice? Shouldn’t we give them, like, money?”

She rolls her eyes. “You must be learning something from your tutor. We can’t just hand out money. We’ll take over the boat and leave it at the harbor. It’ll cause chaos.”

“Isn’t that . . . bad?” he frowns again. “And on my birthday, too.”

“It’ll be fine, Kaz. It’s great, actually. Shows that you’ve got enough importance to merit our nation being attacked.”

“But we’re attacking ourselves.”

“Every person who’s in power is attacked, Kaz. That’s unfortunately how Agni has it work. It’s better to control the collisions, at all. Which reminds me,” she frowns. “I haven’t scheduled an assassin for myself yet.”

“What?”

“A perfect example, Kaz. I hire my own assassins and kill them. And then that puts off the softliners and hardliners on my council so they don’t kill me.”

She’s smiling. “You’re utterly insane,” he tells her, and when her expression doesn’t change he starts laughing until his breaths turn to coughs. “You’re crazy,” he repeats, and he wonders why he doesn’t even mind. Why doesn't he feel terrible right now?

“This will be fun,” she says, like she’s reliving something again. “Oh, and try not to kill anyone. I normally don’t mind but we can redelegate them to an easier position. I don’t want to hire more soldiers.” And that killed the mood.

“Why do your soldiers run your rice ship?”

“Because soldiers man all the merchant ships, and ours are taxed differently. You should have learned this.”

“I haven’t exactly learned everything yet,” he notes as they turn the corner again. “When are we — won’t they see us?”

But Azula has her hands behind her again, pure power and energy rocketing them forward until they’re in the ship’s blind eye, under the hull. He hadn’t realized how close they were. And suddenly he’s unsure about this. Besides the fight at Ba Sing Se he hasn’t actually fought much, especially with his formerly broken arm. “Aunt Azula —”

She’s jumped up and is latched onto one of the holes in the ship’s side. “Hurry up!”

Dumbfounded, he reaches up and starts scaling the walls as well. He’s not nearly as accomplished as she is when it comes to stealth and the art of moving in general, but he did learn a decent amount with his father and all he does now is train. “Ow,” he grunts as his elbow hits the metal and the impact reverberates through his body.

Azula smirks at him before reaching out a hand and flipping herself onto the top of the ship. “Happy birthday!”

He’s so, so confused, but he almost smiles back as he launches himself up. 

Chapter Text

“You can’t tell me you like staying here,” he’s back in this dank, humid cell, and Iroh stretches his arms across his head before laying back down.

“It is not too bad, Kazou.”

“Are you not getting this? This will be so easy. I’ll get the guards to give me the keys and let you go and that’s it. Azula will never even know,” he can’t keep the relieved tone out of his voice. Iroh turns his head.

“You care an awful lot what Azula thinks.”

Kaz crosses his arms and falls further into the ground, settling down on his outer robes. “She’s my aunt.”

Iroh raises an eyebrow. “Ah, and Zuko was her brother and I’m sure you know how many times she tried to kill him when they were children. She’s crazy.”

He opens his mouth and then closes it again. He supposes Iroh is right — but Azula’s never indicated to him that she wants to kill his father. Sure, they faced each other down, but neither of them seemed rather murderous at the time. They technically worked together in Ba Sing Se. And he knows her and knows that if she really wanted him dead she would have killed him now. He knows about her murderous side but he can’t quite reconcile that Azula with who raided a ship with him yesterday. He’s sure, for whatever reason, that she wouldn’t kill him.

But that doesn’t mean that he’s unaware of how crazy she is. She is headstrong and sharp most of the time, almost blaringly so to a point of concern. Something sits unsettled in the balance, like she’s overshot her goals, like she’s planning too far ahead. “She’s fine now.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure. Oh, and thank you for the meals,” he rubs his stomach and sighs again. “It has been a long time since I have had such good meat. I have no idea what you’ve done but this old man is thankful.”

“Then let me let you out!” He lashes again. Iroh still looks unperturbed. “Seriously! Why don’t you want to go?”

“As I said, everything will be answered in time,” the man waves his heightened sounds away. “Now, let’s talk about you.”

He groans and slides back against the earth door, the ground rough against the side of his face. But then he thinks again. “You went with my father when he was exiled, didn’t you?”

He solemnly nods. “Those were Zuko’s dark days. He was younger than you, almost, when his own father burned him,” and then he almost seems ashamed. “I could not even look.”

“W—wait?” he starts. “Dad was burned?”

Well, obviously Dad was burned. Dad has a gigantic mark on his face. Of course he was burned. But he thought that Dad was burned when fighting in the war. Whatever Iroh is saying — 

“Oh, child. You don’t know,” Iroh looks mournful. “I am — still ashamed. My brother, Ozai, yes — he burned Zuko’s face when he was thirteen.”

He moves forwards until his face is pressed between the jail’s bars again. “What? Why would —  why would a father burn their own child?”

It makes a whole lot of sense now that he thinks about it. Thinks about everything. Mom’s consoling of Dad, Azula saying that her father didn’t let her do anything but train. Of course he didn’t, he was evil, and he knows this . . . but — 

“Fire Lord Ozai burned Dad. I —” Iroh stays silent as Kaz closes his eyes and falls back, red lines indented on his head. “Did he even have a reason?”

How can you justify burning your thirteen-year-old son’s face? He can’t imagine Dad ever doing something like that — his dad couldn’t do something like that. His dad tells stories and is always kissing Mom and burns whatever he tries to cook. He couldn’t do anything remotely evil. He’s never harmed a hair on any of their heads. Because my grandfather burned his face.

Oh, Agni. All he can do is place his head in his hands and hope the pressure will calm his pounding heart. And even if Azula was powerful, Ozai being like that too — he feels so guilty. His father had that sort of father and grew up to be a good person and he had the perfect Dad, a role model, and he — 

He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s not evil. But he ran away from his parents and he — 

“He spoke up against a general in a war council. He wanted to save some fresh troops that Ozai wanted to sacrifice,” Iroh says quietly and Kaz can barely hear. He’s not crying but his chest is tightening. Dad had that for a father and — 

“What happened to my grandmother?”

And the second he looks up and sees Iroh’s frown he cancels that question. He doesn’t need to know. “Nevermind. I —” he’s grasping for straws. “You said you knew my mother.”

Iroh still looks worried about his mild hyperventilation but settles down again. “Yes, I did. Katara was — is, I suppose — a waterbending prodigy. She was equally matched to Azula. And firmly attached to the Avatar with that brother of hers,” he sounds like he’s reminiscing.

Kaz looks up, his eyes bright. “Mom had a brother?” of course she would. Who knows how many awful siblings and parents his parents are hiding? This one is probably also a megalomaniac. He’s curious anyway.

He’s given a peaceful smile. “Ah yes, your nonbender uncle. He was a great warrior, of the style of the Water Tribes and the Earth Kingdoms and even the Fire Nation. Amazing with a sword,” he gestures to the blade lined up against the back wall. “You didn’t just get that trait from your father. He was the first to fight with Zuko, if I recall correctly,” he laughs. 

“What happened? When Mom and Dad first met? Were you there?” at Iroh’s nod he sighs. “They told me that Dad got hurt in the war and Mom healed him and they met and fell in love.”

There is one thing he hasn’t heard from Iroh yet, and that’s laughter. The old man is suddenly doubled over on his bed, cackling into his thin prisoner’s garb. Kaz watches, stunned, for a moment, until the bursts turn into hacks. Then he coughs into his arm rather obviously. “Uh. So that didn’t happen?”

“Oh, no,” Iroh . . . is that a smirk? “I believe . . . the first time they saw each other Zuko and your uncle got into a fight, at the South Pole. And then shortly after that he fought your mother again. And then again,” he tilts his head. “They fought for quite some time, didn’t they?”

“Like . . . physically?”

“Oh, of course. There was that time on the ship, then some others, then the North Pole and then that time in Ba Sing Se . . .” that quiets him. “And then when your father put his head on straight and decided to join the Avatar I believe your mother was angry at him for quite some time. With that history I’m . . . actually a little surprised they managed to have any semblance of a relationship, although I know they were well-matched. Equals.”

So now he’s a little more mind blown. “Mom and Dad don’t really fight. Ever,” he runs his hand over the back of his head again, messing with his topknot. “They’re like, attached to each other. I think when they’re mad at each other they just kiss and make it up.”

It’s strange to be mentally complaining about his parents being freaky again. It feels all too normal, like that day he’d left. But they’re always touching, always together, and he can’t imagine them being his age and constantly fighting each other. Especially physically. He knows his dad’s bursts of fire and the way his mother had blown up an entire building’s plumbing system that day . . . they’re powerful. He can’t imagine what they would have been like against each other.

“What was Dad doing at the South Pole?”

“You see, he was banished to . . .”

It’s much too late. Azula trusts him, a bit, and she won’t think twice about his night travels out into the town. She loves the concept of freedom. But with the amount of servants he has in his wing and his utter lack of privacy, he’s sure this excursion will be on everyone’s lips tomorrow. He groans at that. He hadn’t even left properly with soldiers or anything; he snuck out and he’s sneaking back in.

His conversation with Iroh had lasted rather long even if the wise man still refused to tell him exactly why he didn’t want to leave his cell; but it’s not as though Kaz is going to release him against his own will, twisted as that seems. And that thought distracted him long enough to move his foot over the wrong part of the gate. He holds in an undignified squeal. This is the guard’s blank spot, right at this angle of the fence, underneath a thick-branched tree; he doesn’t want to be caught because of his lack of focus of all things.

With a silent grunt he hoists himself to the ground, tugging his robes behind him. They’re torn and covered in dirt anyway. His knee twinges and he reaches a hand down to grab it. It’s bleeding even if he can’t feel it, blood against his skin. The substance is all over his hands now, and he hastily wipes himself off on his robes before running behind the kitchen entrance in this corner, footsteps thudding on the grass. They sound heavier than normal and he’s scared he’s going to be caught — he supposes he won’t get in trouble, exactly, but it’s a matter of principle — and after a few moments of no sounds he sighs and moves further in, sneaking through the side door. It should be empty at this time of night, but he’s only done this once or twice before so he’s not really certain exactly what the schedule is.

It’s an open corridor and pitch black, nobody inside. The kitchen hall, the one which leads to all the preparation rooms, is rather long. This palace is full of excess even if he and Azula don’t abuse it. He sniffs at one door and smells something sweet. The next is doughy and fried.

Yeah, Kaz is a little bit hungry. He skipped dinner to keep talking with Iroh, learning about the Avatar and the way his parents had fought at the North Pole. And what had happened at the North Pole. He’d learnt about his father’s impossible mission and how he’d grasped any chances at redemption with both hands. There are stories in the middle too but Iroh hadn’t mentioned those, claiming they would take too long. He’d left when his great-uncle talked about the Princess of the Northern Water Tribe, who’d kissed his nameless uncle, turning into the moon.

His mother had told him some story about the moon being a princess when he was younger. He thinks he’s heard her tell it to Zuya several times since, but he’d always zoned out at the word ‘princess’. He hadn’t cared about it. He hadn’t realized it was . . . real.

But anyway. His stomach is grumbling and all the doors are closed here. He’s about to cut his losses and just stalk into a produce room — maybe he can eat fruit or something — when he sees a faint light coming out of one of the rooms at the end of the hall. Eyes narrowing, he makes his way towards it. It’s right next to the entrance — perhaps some last minute cleaning up? 

Whatever. He can ask whoever’s inside, likely a head maid or cook or something, where he can get something to eat. Or maybe he’ll ask them to make him something. He can do that, right? He’s princely and powerful and all that. And yesterday was his birthday. They would have to pity him a bit anyway.

His footsteps are still light as he makes his way to the dim-lighted room. He slows down near it, tossing his robes and sword on the ground. He can’t hear a lot of sound inside, not the rustle and bustle of dishes, the clanking he hasn’t heard since he left home. But there is something else there — 

He opens the door to a small lamp in the corner and a girl on the floor, a towel in her hand as she mops up something liquid — probably water — which is floating over the kitchen tiles. There’s a small puddle of it on the ground, like something has been tipped over. The room is littered with empty metal tables full of appliances, most of which look fine, if a bit dented. He frowns at her back when he sees several pitchers rolling around on the ground as well, parts of them broken, glass pieces together in the corner.

Whoever it is hasn’t noticed him come back. “Uh — what are you doing here?” that doesn’t sound right. “So late?”

After a moment of silence something like a squeak comes out of the person in front of him. When he turns around he’s faced by dark Fire Nation hair like his own framing a face with fresh green eyes, once which looks rather worn and maybe even younger than him. It looks familiar. He frowns for a minute and things about where he’s seen it before realizing that this girl is a servant and he’s probably glanced at her a hundred times. 

She’s dressed in a regular brown and red tunic, wet at the bottom where she’s sitting in the puddle. But then she’s hastily up, clambering on top of her robes to acknowledge him. “Prince Kazou,” she bows her head, and he just gives her a confused look when she faces him again. He’s normally intimidating with the staff, he thinks, but right now he’s hungry and wondering why a young girl is in the kitchens alone at night. She can’t be older than him.

“So, why are you here?” he repeats after she stands back up and freezes again, staring at him.

For however flustered she seems she is still more composed than he is when she speaks. “It was my turn to clean up the kitchen tonight, sir, but I accidentally pushed over a few items and am staying late to clean up my mess. I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to —”

As always, she’s speaking artificially. “You were left alone this late at night?”

Because that’s what’s grating on his sensibilities a little. There are strange people in the palace, nobles and advisors that he barely knows, and there are quite a few reasons why she shouldn’t be here alone. One of them being the clause in the palace rules he’d been forced to read this morning that stated that servants should always be found in pairs in order to not dishonor the royal house. He’d like to think that the previous Fire Lords who created that rule were more noble.  “Someone should be with you.”

She doesn’t answer him, not even with his staunch eye contact. She’s almost brave. “Is there anything you want, Prince? I can find the remnants of — I can make something for you — I’m not the best cook but —”

And now she sounds more like a slightly cowed servant, even if her posture is still straight. He’s still hungry but he shrugs, slightly intrigued. “I’m fine.”

Her mouth slams back together and she stares at him, the bottom of her tunic dripping. She’s still holding a towel. This is a rather strange situation. Kaz should leave, maybe go to another room to eat tea cakes or something. But he just heard tales about his mother trying to do good things, right things, when she was fourteen — 

He misses her and she would slap him upside the head if he didn’t — “Do you need any help?”

He blushes as her face shifts up and her hair, lank and dark, falls into her face. “With . . . this?” She holds up the towel and he nods. “I . . .”

She doesn’t finish that thought so he moves forward to help her. Only he’s been standing in that position for too long and the ripped skin at his knee objects the movement. “Ouch,” he hisses, and when he looks down he winces at the river of blood flowing down it. It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks. The girl winces inaudibly.

“You should sit down,” she says authoritatively, and he doesn’t take orders but he listens. She runs over to the side, the wet edges of her tunic swinging, and grabs what looks like a makeshift stool; likely what some of the maids who work here use. He staggers onto it and holds his knee up as she bends down on the floor, looking at the scrape with a calculated gaze. “That’s deep.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, I — sir,” she steps away from him and drops her towel on the floor. “I’ll go get another towel to wipe it down, Prince.”

Now his leg is starting to throb. That barbed gate isn’t exactly a joke; he actually takes in his wound and wants to look away. If Mom was here she would heal it, but she’s not, and he’s scraped from his knee to the center of his calf. And the wound is decently deep, digging much past his skin. It’s starting to burn. Hopefully it won’t stop him from training — he thinks the pain is what made him fall back from stepping, not the wound itself. He puts a hand down on his bleeding skin before leaning away. His hands are calloused and covered in dirt right now, not ideal for touching mending wounds.

She’s back with a fresh towel in her hand — she’d moved to the side of the room, where he now sees there’s a small closet. Deliberating, she holds it in her hand before stepping away from him again, looking around. Her hair is in a loose braid, looking like it’s almost completely fallen out, an artificial version of how Aunt Ty wears hers. He’s confused as to why she hasn’t just given him the towel yet but then he hears her mumble under her breath. “Not every pitcher . . .”

So she’s looking for water to help clean up the wound. It’s almost thoughtful. He should just get up and make it to his rooms and deal with this in the morning, but she’s here, and she’s found the water pitcher. When she walks up to him and holds out both items they both tentatively smile. “Here —”

He grabs the towel and places it in the water before slowly mopping at his leg, letting the coolness of the liquid distract from his pain. It doesn't feel quite like his mother’s waterbending, but it’s fine.  She’s holding the pitcher and he reaches out to clean the wound again, muttering something he shouldn’t when a couple of drops of it splash onto the floor and her soaked feet. And then she laughs.

Kaz thinks about that sound for a moment before leaving the towel against his knee and tilting his head up at her. “You’re the girl who laughed at me outside of the courtyard the other day. You and your friend.”

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. That had been a humiliating day, a terrible breakdown, and to be laughed at over something as utterly stupid as his topknot not looking great? He looks down and sheepishly runs his hand through his hair again, realizing that he’d placed his crown in his shirt pocket in order not to be recognized by its glint. Still, his hair’s a mess. And she’d been carrying his laundry. He’s lucky he doesn’t have his father’s genes — his mother’s skin hides the sheer crimson his face is turning.

She’d been the quiet one. “I’m sorry about that, Prince. I just —”

“Yeah, whatever,” he snarks. She thinks he’s stuck-up and gross then. Everyone here does. “I can just . . .” he stands up and once again underplays the sharp pain in his leg, collapsing back down on it. The girl grabs his arm, a little shorter than him, and moves him back up. She’s rather strong, he notices, and he feels helpless as she puts him back into that sitting position, her hand on his shoulder. 

He breathes in heavily again and she removes it after a few seconds. “I’m sorry, Prince. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, slowly standing up again, putting more pressure on his other knee.

“Can you make it back to your . . .” the girl starts, but he’s already picked up the towel she’d discarded a few seconds ago and is letting himself sit down on the edge of the puddle, soaking up some of the liquid. He has no idea how all the pitchers fell to the ground in such a haphazard function. And it’s late and he should be going back to bed, but he’s thinking about his mom in his mind again, and honor, and the fact that he feels a little bad about how he snapped at this girl those days ago. And now.

“Prince, you really don’t have to —”

He ignores her and watches the water turn the towel damp. It soaks to his pointed shoes and feels familiar, comfortable. “You don’t have to do that,” he grunts.

“Do what?”

Kaz looks away even as he realizes that she’s going to the closet and getting out more towels to solve this mess. “Call me Prince, or Sir, or whatever.”

“Um, okay.” She sounds surprised and he feels her lean down next to him. He intently focuses on collecting the moisture, letting her take the towel from his hand. “So. My name’s Rini.”

He nods and keeps going. Nice to meet you. 

Chapter Text

“He tied her to a tree?”

“And said he was going to save her from the pirates, something of the sort. He had her necklace, too. Dangled it over her neck. In hindsight, I think that might have been his strange flirting. Or . . . no,” Iroh sighs. “They were children, at the end of it. Zuko was a little older than you and your mother was even younger.”

“Dad tied Mom to a tree? As a hostage? And threatened her? To save her from pirates?”

Iroh nods and Kaz falls back. The image Iroh is painting, all these small stories about Dad, don’t really have a place in his mind. He can’t imagine Dad tying Mom to a tree or threatening anyone. Well, maybe threatening someone. But it’s hard to believe that Mom and Dad didn’t have a great beginning. And that Dad held her hostage because he wanted to capture the Avatar. 

“I can’t believe he actually thought . . .”

“Well, Zuko definitely came to his senses. It took many more trials and some more mistakes, but he did join your mother and the Avatar eventually. I am proud of him. He had a good heart, even during all this time. And there was, of course, that time he freed the Avatar from the awful Zhao. Wore a mask and everything. Did it without bending, too,” he coughs. “I always felt that Zhao must have realized he was the Blue Spirit.”

Wait. “Uh. Can you repeat that?”

Iroh looks amused. “Zhao, the general I’m telling you about — there was a time when he captured the Avatar and Zuko went and freed the boy dressed up with a mask.”

“A mask? A Blue Spirit mask?”

And all of a sudden Kaz remembers that his original desire to come to the prison had stemmed from his want to scour the Fire Nation’s records on the Blue Spirit. He hadn’t done that, of course, due to his distraction. It would be so hilarious and terrible if all the stars aligned here, and he doesn’t know what he’s hoping for. “Dad was the Blue Spirit. The criminal?”

“Yes, I suppose. He was very wanted in the Fire Nation for quite a long time after that. And it fed legends, although I don’t think Zuko’s intentions at the time were noble. He was defending his honor and his country; he was a little distressed that even his alternate persona was wanted,” he squints. “But also, Zuko was a constantly distressed teenager. I don’t quite blame him, he had a lot on his shoulders. All he wanted to do was do right by his throne. And he felt that he was unable to do so.”

“The Blue Spirit is big, and strong, and he rescued the girl from the pirates.”

He’s really been entrapped in a lie all this time, hasn’t he? And Iroh hasn’t told him about half of their adventures yet. For all he knows all of the stories that his parents have told him over the years are true. And that would be terrifying and also sort of magical, if the Painted Lady really exists and if there is a temple somewhere in the world that’s built backwards . . .

“Azula says that Dad used to care a lot about his honor. Well, she makes fun of him because of it.”

“Zuko always cared very much for his honor. He would always do what he thought was best for his nation and his legacy and throne first. He cared about it very much. And that’s why he was intent on capturing the Avatar and then overthrowing his father and Azula.”

“But if he cared so much why didn’t he keep trying? He lost to Azula and then he and Mom left and they never came back. They never even tried,” he tries not to make his tone bitter but he knows the acidity is channeling through him anyway.

Iroh stares at him through the bars. “I would not want to be too presumptuous, Kazou, but it does not seem that you know what occurred after the final battle.”

“What happened? They lost and they ran away and then they didn’t come back,” he snaps.

And yet the other man is patient. “And yet you do not know what happened from their side of the story, do you? Perhaps they were just trying to survive. They lost the war and everything they’d ever cared about. Your mother lost her family and your father lost me as well —”

“Didn’t Dad care so much about the Fire Nation, though? Wouldn’t he come back?”

As always, Iroh remains serene in the face of his fits. And this is a fit. When Kazou finishes talking flames spurt from his mouth, incensed by his rage, and sparks flicker off his skin. They flare into the cell, but his great-uncle isn’t impacted. “I am giving you questions, Kazou. Not answers.”

“Why are you so cryptic?”

And to that he receives a pursed smile. He wants to destroy this place and something burns out of his throat again. The stupid walls in this prison don’t scorch because they’re meant to keep firebenders. If they were made of something like wood he would have burned it down several times over. He never loses control like this anywhere else. “Fine. Don’t be helpful. But tell me about the Blue Spirit. Mom and Dad used to tell us stories about him. Or, well, stories about him helping people.”

“Ah. I don’t think the Blue Spirit helped as many as they said. They likely just told stories. After all, he was just Zuko in a costume mask.”

“A costume mask?”

“Yes.”

“So the mask came from somewhere?”

“It was his mother’s, I believe. Your grandmother’s. She watched plays, you see, enjoyed theater. She kept a wide collection of masks in her rooms and near the palace theater. I’d assume that Zuko took one with him before his banishment.”

“My grandmother . . .” he hasn’t asked about her yet. He doesn’t want to. But he doesn’t quite understand the other part of that. “The palace has . . . a theater.”

“Of course! A great place, boisterous and fun. Days at the theater were fine entertainment for the royals . . . in my time,” he concludes, looking at Kaz’s tilted brows. “I would assume Azula wouldn’t have kept that tradition around. She was never that close to her mother. She probably ignores all of her things. Perhaps she’s burnt the last ones.”

“Oh. It must have been strange to have a large royal family. It’s just me and Aunt Azula in there. And all of her nobles.”

“You call her your aunt?”

“She is, isn’t she?” Kaz says back carelessly. A knock sounds from the corridor. He’d asked the guards to alert him when it passed five hours after the afternoon so that he has time to return back to the palace. That night he’d been late three days ago had led him to injure himself, and he’s been attempting to hide his slight limp for the past few days even though he’s sure everyone is aware of it. 

“She is,” Iroh agrees before rising from his bed and watching as Kaz collects his robes. “Next time we will talk about what happened after the North Pole, Kazou. Your decision today will be hasty, but for once I will recommend that you not have regrets.”

“How do you —”

“You are like your parents,” Iroh mumbles as he gestures for his grand-nephew to leave. “Rash. And you need to improve your questioning skill.”

“Do you need help?”

“What?” he flounders forward, elbows catching on the bush he’s standing behind. “What — no! I’m fine.”

“Why are you acting like you’re trying to sneak your way into your own palace? You’re here already. You rule this place, don’t you?”

And is she laughing at him again? Yes, she is. When Kazou rights himself again he sees Rini standing outside of the bush with her hands on her hips. “Shouldn’t you have left early today? It’s dark.”

“I’m heading to the gate,” she says as he pulls himself to his feet. “Then I saw you and thought that I should return the favor. Because you, you know, helped me out.”

“I don’t need help. I’m not doing anything.”

“It definitely looks like that,” she deadpans, and he groans, picking leaves off of his cloak. Maybe sneaking around his own palace wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but he really can’t have this getting back to Azula, especially if she hated her mother. 

“You’re so disrespectful,” he notes back as something like a joke. She’s technically being loose with her rules. Sure, they had spent a few hours talking into the late night that day ago and she hadn’t had to use formalities with him. It had been an easy conversation, something fluid and lighthearted. Nobody talks back to him at all besides his assorted family members, and Azula is mad and Iroh obviously is also short a few cells. He thinks that conversation could have been friendly. 

But his words make her turn her head down. “I’m sorry, Prince Kazou. I won’t —”

Oh, Agni. He really doesn’t have a very developed sense of humor or inflection. “I was — it’s fine, really. I actually do need . . .” he stutters through. “I—I do need a bit of help.”

That light is back in her eyes and she claps her hands excitedly in the dark. The sound reverberates through the wing and he rapidly holds up his fingers to his lips. “Quiet! Nobody can know I’m here.”

“We’re whispering?” she asks. “Why are we whispering? You can do whatever —”

“I don’t want to explain it,” he lets go quickly. “Do you know . . . the old Fire Lord and Lady, before Fire Lord Azula. Do you know where their rooms are?”

While she thinks some time to ponder over the question he reaches for her arm and pulls her behind another bush. She falls into place gracefully besides him, far less lanky and awkward. He shouldn’t be trusting her with this, this random girl from the kitchen, but his conversation with her about his favorite foods and the turtleducks had probably been one of the best of his life. He’s really not the best with people. And maybe he’s being a little too trusting right now. He — he really shouldn’t be.

He has a feeling she won’t betray him. 

A foot away underneath the brush she’s resting her chin on her palm. Her hair is braided in random pieces today rather than falling apart in the back, and it looks choppy and cut unevenly. It’s characteristic and frames her open face in a strange way, but it still works. 

Rini’s features are trusting and she hasn’t second-guessed his inquiry at all yet. So she’s either a very good spy or truly is trying to help him. Too fast, Kaz. Think this through. You’re so desperate for someone who’ll talk to you. You’re so weak. 

“I don’t . . .” she struggles. “I’ve never gone anywhere like that at all to clean.”

“Ugh,” he thinks again. “Is there any place you’re not allowed to go?”

She shrugs, her hair hitting her shoulders as she whispers back. “A lot of the south wing, definitely. But I don’t know why.”

He supposes that’s a place to start. This quest is of his own curiosity and nothing else, so he can take his time as long as he doesn’t get caught in the wrong space. And anyway, Azula doesn’t know about Iroh. He can pass himself off as just curious and brash. It’s not like the description is inaccurate.  “Okay, I’ll start there. Thanks.”

He rises from the spot but she hisses into the warm air. “Where are you going?

And Kaz supposes he definitely can’t tell her about this stupid decision. “Nowhere. You should go home,” he says coldly, turning back to face her where she’s still leaning in the bush. She doesn’t flinch like he’s expecting, just pauses for a moment before biting back.

“Okay, Prince.”

She rises and starts moving in the opposite direction. When he’s halfway across the yard he turns back his hood and checks to make sure that she’s gone. Then he whisks himself away, stalking awkwardly around the back of the palace’s buildings in an effort to avoid the guards, something rising in his chest.

It’s almost sunup by the time he locates the palace’s theater — it’s in the south wing, as Rini had said, a rather dilapidated building. He supposes it’s been a few decades since it was used, since this entire wing was, so it’s mildly understandable. And by the time he finds a collection of masks he can see the sun rising through windows filled with cobwebs. 

Kaz isn’t quite sure what the Blue Spirit mask actually looks like so he doesn’t think he’ll find the exact one, especially if his father took it from his mother years ago. Most of the masks in the chest are made of wood and rotting after years of disuse. He pulls one out that’s half-eaten and then drops it on the floor. He won’t find his father’s but he wants one that’s blue — not only because of the original character but also because of his mother’s heritage.

After throwing several decomposing pieces onto the floor he stumbles across the back of the stack, masks made of metal, strong and sturdy, forged the way they are. One at the very back is carved smooth and blue, wave symbols drifting across it in patterns. It’s painted in variations of silver and blue and grey, sparkling slightly in the sun, and shapes like a circle to hide the top part of a face. It looks very water tribe. It looks — 

What is he doing?

All he wanted to do was do right by his throne. And he felt that he was unable to do so.

I'm going to do what you couldn't do. What you were too weak to do.

Your decision today will be hasty, but for once I will recommend that you not have regrets.

With an inaudible sigh he grabs the smooth disguise and puts it against his chest. He can be fueled by this. He’ll do right by his throne — he can make everyone proud. 

Chapter Text

“He’s infuriating. I don’t know how you like him.”

“I don’t like anyone. But he’s a good ally to have. It’s a part of the game and he’s essential.”

He sits up and stretches himself out, clambering off of the elevated platform Azula is on to step across the floor onto the table the generals and nobles had just been occupying. Azula stares calculatedly at him, twisting her hair around her finger. Kazou takes cruel satisfaction in sitting down and placing his feet across the map on the slightly raised platform in front of him.

“You’re stepping on Ba Sing Se,” Azula drawls, and he smirks. He’s always confident when he walks into this room; the impeccable way he’s groomed and his seat next to his aunt cement his power. When he walks the halls with these men and women they can act like they’re on his level. But when he’s sitting above them he’s calm, collected, and it rushes to his head, a heady feeling. 

“Yeah,” he blinks and doesn’t move. “Why can’t you just get rid of Nen?”

The man has rubbed him the wrong way since he arrived and he’s been trying to figure out why he told him about Iroh. It was obvious that he was trying to get to Kaz’s head — and he did — but he’s having trouble seeing the bigger picture. He can’t tell this to Azula so his argument against the man isn’t strong at all.

“Kazou. If you want to go back to the Earth Kingdom you will need the political backing of the man who manufactures our tanks —”

He looks at the villages under his feet, two-dimensional and flat under the bright lighting.  He does want to go back to the Earth Kingdom. He’s still bitter about his parents and their imprisonment and the King’s guard — the Earth King doesn’t deserve to rule after what he’s done. Invading sounds like a rather dark and deep step to take but he doesn’t see another way to take back the city.

Sometimes he is rather terrified about his own thought process — he shouldn’t want to take over the city, shouldn’t want to start a war. But at the same time he knows that Azula once took the city and did fine. If she’d been able to keep it, if it hadn’t been liberated, then he would have grown up in a different place. He and his parents wouldn’t have had to hide integral parts of themselves and they could have been free. And whenever he thinks about starting a war and what that means he disregards all the negatives and clutches onto that understanding. 

“We’re never going to actually invade the Earth Kingdom,” he interrupts. They aren’t — most of the nobles seem wary of starting a war, even if the generals and governors don’t. “Nobody wants to. And even if you do, you still need their support.” He’s learnt this; they might have a right to rule but they’re still held in place by these small rules. His strange shoe scuffs the ocean and he stares at the board morosely.

“We’ll break the others eventually. They’re just benefitting —”

“You should withdraw your . . . subsidization,” he deliberates. When he turns around she has a puzzled look on her face, though it still looks purposeful.

“That would hurt the people.”

“I’m very certain that they don’t use our money to lessen their profits,” he snorts back, staring at the ceiling.

“That wouldn’t change their point of view, Prince Kazou,” she uses, and warmth settles into his stomach. “They’ll increase the costs for the people and we’ll lose even more support with them.”

“So limit how high they can price their items. And do it yourself or use one of your ministers, without their input,” he reaches.

“You’re being awfully presumptuous.”

“They’re hurting the people of the Fire Nation and that’s building resentment. If you give the gold to them instead you’ll gain their support instead.”

“They’ll still object to the war.”

“Why do they object to the war?” she looks at him pointedly. He sighs. “Fire Lord.”

She shrugs. “They dislike sending food to our soldiers at reduced prices. They prefer . . . I suppose you’re right. They prefer selling to the people,” she sounds almost disgusted.

“And they’re profiting now and then others will profit during the war,” he realizes. “Like Nen.”

“You should have learnt this.”

“This isn’t the sort of learning we’re outright told, you know . . .” she’s glaring a bit. “Uh, Fire Lord. But anyway it’s not like they can object to your rule. Just use our own gold and buy the soldier’s food at the same price as the civilians. It’s not like we do anything with it anyway.”

Once upon a time the palace had a theater and constant celebrations, and the royal family used to walk the streets proudly. He doesn’t think Azula’s done something of the sort since she’s started to rule. He’s unsure if she’s even walked amongst her people. It doesn’t matter, anyway — at the end of the day the lack of overwhelming excess (his robes are still heavy and expensive, he’s sure) has left them with quite a bit of tax revenue over the past ten years, after they started increasing the numbers a decade after the end of the war. 

“They won’t be happy with us,” Azula notes even though she sounds devilish. “But they cannot say no. You are most definitely not your father’s child, Prince Kazou,” the title is cold on her tongue. “It is a solid plan that I will think over. These merchants are corrupt, anyway. It’s not as if they have anywhere else to trade . . . without conquered territories.”

He thinks about the mask hidden underneath the ground outside of his room. He might still be his father’s child, just not the way she’s expecting. But right now the formality is up. She’s picking up her robes and stepping off the throne.

“Where are you going?”

“I have a meeting and then a meal with the Governor of . . .”

He tunes out and stares listlessly at Kyoshi Island. “Oh, okay.”

“Kazou! Don’t ignore me.”

“Sorry, yeah?” she’s standing next to him with her hands on her hips, her heavy robes swinging around her. He can see the clear shift from the Prince and the Fire Lord to the two of them, the student and the master and whatever else. 

“Come to this dinner. I’ll introduce you to Shen. You can come up with some legislation and present it to him.”

He starts. “I’m not doing anything.”

She frowns. “You will need to know how to do this and it’s important to take responsibility for your decisions in order to create positive impressions. Remember how impressed everyone was after you arrested that —”

“That man was innocent.”

“Well,” she smiles blithely. “These ones aren’t. Shen is an ally but you must ensure that the phrasing is adequate.”

“I can’t come to dinner tonight,” he blurts out. And he’s not lying. He’d planned to run out and try wearing the mask tonight. He’s not sure exactly what he was planning on doing but he was going to figure something out. Something to defend the Fire Nation. 

He thinks about that more. These merchants, the grain and rice ones, extort the people . . . the rice ship they’d intercepted. Something comes to the forefront of his mind. Here is something he can do — something to cement his place and also do right. Something the Painted Lady did, in her story. Get rid of the corrupt people in the town and give them food, his mother had once told him. The Painted Lady is a spirit who gives villagers food and helps them. 

Kaz is no hero but he has a disguise. And he does have something to do tonight. 

“What could you possibly be doing that’s more important than this?”

“Um. I’m feeling sort of sick, actually. I think I’m going to go to bed,” he winces out. That was definitely not a convincing story.

Azula opens her mouth before closing it, like for once she doesn’t have a sharp response to him. “You are going to sleep . . . in the afternoon.”

“Yup.” Yeah, this is definitely not going to work — 

“Must not be good, then,” she adds. “Fine, take your rest. I expect you to have it done when you’re feeling alright.”

He takes in a deep breath after she leaves the hall, astounded by his luck before realizing that Azula probably hasn’t been around anyone long enough to truly understand the signs of sickness. And that’s sort of sad.

For a second he debates getting up and leaving the empty hall but then decides he has time now that he’s going to spend the rest of his day in his rooms, so he stretches out again until he’s sprawled across the map and tosses off his outer robe. The heat of the flames in the back don’t reach this part of the War Room. It’s almost comfortable. He’s thinking about dozing off when he hears a heavy footstep sound behind one of the pillars to his side, still wrapped in darkness. 

“Hey!” He shouts, reaching his hand out to thrust and send a fireball in that direction. When someone squeals he readies another. “Show yourself!”

If one of the advisors stayed behind and overheard that conversation — who knows what they would do? Nothing good. He doesn’t know what he would do in that case either. Tell Azula? She’d probably force him to murder whoever this is.

And then a girl steps out and he frowns. “You.”

Rini hasn’t talked to him since their chilly exchange a few days ago. That was his intention, after all, so he shouldn't mind. He really shouldn’t. He’s preparing to chastise her and tell her off for listening in — she surely won’t report him, he thinks, and he is definitely not going to tell Azula — but she points at him first, feet stuck to the ground in her regular clothing. He extinguishes the ball in his palm and can barely make her out as she stalks forward until she’s standing over him where he's casually laying.

This is not where he wants to be and he should get up but she almost looks scary. “You —” she starts, “you’re — despicable.”

“I — what?” he recoils back as far as he can manage. “You need to leave. I could have your head for eavesdropping!” He finds words from somewhere after a second of recuperation.

“Stepping on Ba Sing Se,” she turns to his feet, where they’re pointedly over the city, and then stomps next to him again. Her hair is flying and he should really move out of the way or blast her. But he’s stuck in place and he can’t quite do that either. “Fine. Have my head, Prince. You’ll have it anyway,” she whispers.

“What? Attacking Ba Sing Se?” he frowns. “I wouldn’t be doing anything wrong, you know. The people there are evil. They’re terrible,” he wants to elaborate but then settles back down. “Not that I have to explain anything to you,” he huffs.

But even if his words are clear hers aren’t. She doesn’t look like she’s about to cry, exactly, just like she’s profoundly disappointed. “I thought you weren’t . . .”

Then she freezes and he wants to scratch the back of his neck but is afraid to move. “I wasn’t what?” he goads. 

 With a hateful last look she doesn’t finish the sentence, just turns on her heel and sprints out to the side of the room. He stares at her back and shifts uncomfortably. The last time he’d seen eyes like those was in Ba Sing Se. 

Chapter Text

He slides over the gate and freezes for a moment behind the tree outside, once again considering whether or not this is a good idea. The mask in the pack underneath his shoulder feels awfully heavy even though it shouldn’t. Kaz knows that when he ties it over his head he’ll have committed himself to this completely. And he’s not sure what this is. Revenge? Justice? A way to covertly talk to his father and impress his aunt, a way to pull strings outside of the court? A way to have fun, maybe. A way to scare people without being himself. He remembers the day with the boat, the feeling of exhilaration as he’d bent across the ship’s harbor, the excitement in his stomach as he’d tried to navigate the ocean for the first time. He was a different person.

He’s so many people. He’s his father’s son even though he doesn’t want to be. He’s his mother’s son and he doesn’t mind as much. He’s related to Iroh and his wise sayings and Azula and her strange tact, his uncle with his swords and Zuya with her innocence. He wants to be himself because he feels like he isn’t. And he doesn’t exactly know if he’s going to accomplish that by being the Blue Spirit, by slightly honoring his father’s legacy in favor of the Fire Nation. In a way this is poetic justice. He can recreate this and be himself and he can run away from the past.

His face has been tense for the past hour or so, lips pulled back in a thin line and forehead ruffled. He edges behind the tree to ensure that he’s out of sight of the patrol and places his head in his hands for a moment, just to gather himself. He can do this. He’s spent the day planning this in his rooms. He’s going to find Lord Jiro and he’s going to humiliate the man. Physically. And then when he goes back to court tomorrow he'll have a case for himself. And he’ll be defending the people of the Fire Nation and he’ll be supporting his war. It will all work perfectly, everything that he’s worked on so far. Now he needs to leave and do it.

One more, he thinks, and breathes in. When his parents were his age they were fighting in a war and they had courage. His father was the Blue Spirit and his mother went on missions with the Avatar. They snuck into places, scaled walls and set explosions. They were fighting in a war. And he probably won’t bend unless necessary but he has his sword in his hand too and he knows how to use it. He was taught by the Blue Spirit himself and now he’s being taught by the Fire Nation’s best masters. He can do this. It’s for his throne, after all. His birthright. And he has courage.

And as he prepares to jump further outside, looking out to ensure there aren’t any guards in sight, he is suddenly struck by the realization that he has never fought like this before. The only real life-and-death situation he’s ever been put in was in Ba Sing Se and he walked out of that city with a broken arm. He can’t do that now. He needs to come out of this alive. 

I will, he convinces himself as he sprints forward. This side of the palace is stuck in the brush, and the area outside of it is full of trees and stones and bushes. It makes it harder to ambush but also easy to hide in. Anyway, nobody is looking for someone leaving the palace. They’re looking for people coming in. Kaz’ll be fine. He knows he will.

He steps on a small twig and hears it crack, freezing up; but nobody seems to take notice of the Crown Prince in the black clothes running through the night. After a few minutes pass he gives up his slow path and starts on a sprint running uphill, where he can clamber down the rock that will lead to the rough path toward the main shopping district. The prison where he often comes back late from meeting Iroh is located there, but Jiro resides in the higher residential district, a little further out. His feet touch the ground carefully. When he’s sure he’s hidden he pulls out the map he’d taken from the library and carefully lights up a finger to bathe it in blue. He can make out the thin line from the palace to the residential areas, ironically next to the rice silos. 

Kaz carefully runs his eyes over the paper, mapping out the route in his mind, before stuffing it back into his pack only to reach for the marble-textured blue mask he’d taken from the theater.

For a second he stares at it, at the thin sheen of the layer over its eyes, at the way it's looking into his soul. It does remind him so intrinsically of his mom. Maybe that was a mistake. But he’s too late now and he closes his eyes as he holds it to his face, using a hand to keep it forward and ungracefully fastening it in the back. It doesn’t cover the bottom of his face that well, his telling skin color, but it works well enough. It’s dark; hopefully nobody will be able to see his face anyway.

The mask is cool against his face and it smells old and sort of disgusting. He disregards the stench and starts moving again.

The man’s window is open.

Kaz supposes that’s not that surprising. Nights here are humid and Jiro might not have a noble name, might just be a merchant, but he is definitely corrupt. His house, stacked with its floors and clear decadence, is protected with several guards who look like palace contracts. Kaz doesn’t want to hurt them; not only because they’re technically his but also because he doesn’t think he could take on that many of them. He knows when he’s defeated and he won’t be tonight.

They’re not that great at their job. Or maybe he’s just good at this, good at being unnoticed. It’s what he’s spent a rather large part of his life attempting to do. 

The room that he softly lands in seems to be an office. And Jiro isn’t in it. That makes sense; any sane person would be in bed right now. For a second he blanches because he’s here and he’s going to do this but he doesn’t want to search out a bedroom and attack someone’s wife by accident. That would be unintentional murder. Not that he’s going to commit murder. Wait. He’s not going to — where did that even come from —

And yet luck either hates or despises him, because it’s at that moment that the doors of the office fly open and a rather large man yawns and stumbles into the office. He’s acknowledged Jiro before but the man’s abstract. He’s seen hundreds of old and fat Fire Nation nobles and merchants. He thinks they’re remnants of an older time; he can’t imagine Azula purposefully putting any of these people in power.

With an arm out the man lights up a torch to the side and Kaz jumps out of the way, flattening himself to a bookcase in the corner. The cabinet is built of wood, he notices suddenly. And he narrows his eyebrows because that’s a little strange. Very little in the Fire Nation is made of such flammable material. The desk at the side is metal and so are the torches. But he’s not here to critique the man’s interior decorating skills. He has to do something.

And as he primes his muscles to move and jumps in front of the merchant he briefly realizes that he does not have any idea what he’s doing.

He vaguely knows what he wants to do; humiliation. Preferably public. He wants to put these merchants in the nation’s eyes, wants to be able to justify letting the palace virtually control them. In order to do that he needs to ensure that they have no influence, no respect, no honor. There are moral codes here and he doesn’t think he’s eluding them. Any man who hires security which doesn't realize that there’s a masked man in his office isn’t worth much. 

How exactly is he planning to humiliate some merchant in his office? He doesn’t know. He had this idea in his mind of holding his sword to the man’s throat and giving off some Azula-speech about righteousness and maybe adding in some platitudes. But actually doing . . . 

Kazou is facing Jiro — or rather, this strange rendition of the Blue Spirit is — and the man looks . . . surprised. Sleepy. He’s placed thin glasses on himself and is sitting behind his desk. They stare at each other. Or, well, he stares. He supposes Jiro doesn’t exactly know where he’s looking.

I didn’t think this through is his last thought before he’s turning to the side to avoid being hit by a barrage of sparks. The heat catches on his clothes and he fights the urge to turn around and bend back. He’s young and virile and he could probably take a sleepy old man down. But he can’t bend because that would be . . . no. So he reaches for his sword and points it at Jiro who has another ball of fire in his hand.

“Get out!” Jiro says. His voice sounds weak, thick with something that’s probably sleep, and it gives Kaz confidence. Before the merchant can consider fighting again he’s crawled across the room, dodging the ball at the last moment to hold the weapon to the man’s throat so he’s incapacitated. 

That was easier than he thought it was going to be. But now he has a rather angry old Jiro staring him down. The man stinks of fish, he thinks vaguely. “What do you want?”

Can he talk? The Blue Spirit never talked. But Dad’s voice is raspy and distinctive. His is still slightly recovering from puberty but he should be fine. “I want . . .” he pauses. He doesn’t know what he wants. 

Jiro senses his hesitation and lurches forward, but Kaz feels the motion and presses him further onto the sword. A bead of blood erupts on the man’s neck and he looks very very scared. That settles into him and makes him feel better. He can work with this. “You’re going to kill me,” Jiro whispers.

While he doesn’t have another plan he supposes that’s his last resort, so he presses tighter and a wound starts opening. It’s sort of gruesome and he looks away from the red he can’t believe he’s inflicting. He hasn’t — hasn’t killed anyone before. Purposefully. Maybe he has accidentally. He has hurt people, that one Dai Li agent he’d met on his way to Azula’s. 

Kazou really hasn’t thought this through. Jiro’s eyes widen as he starts something that sounds like coughing, and he looks down to see that he pressed harder than intentional against the man’s skin. The sound of pain cuts through him. 

“I’ll give you . . . anything . . .” the man gasps. “Don’t . . .”

He’s not going to kill him. No matter how corrupt this man is. He’s not going to —

He isn’t. Right? 

It would be so easy. Just another cut and then this failure of a night could be put away. He would still have the momentum to pass the legislation he just drafted and establish himself. Nobody would know it’s him. It would be a nobody who did this. All he needs to do is move his hand further . . .

As if he’s moving of his own volition he moves up his other hand and punches Jiro in the head, pressure in the right area. A second part of him watches in surprise as a combination of blood loss and blocking makes his eyes droop so that he falls to the ground. There’s blood on his sword and leaking down the man’s sleeping robes. Monster.

Shit. 

He has — Kazou has a plan. He needs to stick with this and think things through. Jiro is going to be found in the morning and there’s going to be a man in a mask for no reason and he will have accomplished nothing except a failure to give into that part of himself. I thought you weren’t —

Deep breath, he thinks, one and two. And then he starts digging through Jiro's desk, overturning every paper he can see. Something in here can be useful. Tax filings that don’t look quite right. An invitation to some gala or the other — he’s sure he was invited and isn’t going to go. A letter from a daughter who’s on a different island for school. His heart drops and he stares back to the river of blood that’s starting to pool at his feet. Jiro’s not — he’s not dead.

None of this is useful. He’s about to just call it a loss and leave so he can internalize all these thoughts in his head when he catches a glimpse of something circular drawn on paper. Geometric shapes are strange to see and he’s not sure what he’s expecting to find — a drawing, maybe?

But Kaz bites his lip when he opens the scrolls, curling at the edges, and sees what they look like in the lamplight. Circles and arrows and lines and — architectural plans.

There’s a date at the bottom and a word. Rice, it says. His heart stops and he traces over it again and steps to the side when he feels something cool on the sole of his shoe. He winces for a moment and pulls away, placing the plans into his bag before quickly jumping out the window . . .

Almost. First, he lights the bookshelf on fire. He’s not sure if that’s for better or worse.

Chapter Text

“What’s this?” He holds up the tile in front of Iroh, keeping it at an angle, hoping that his grand-uncle can't tell that he’s trying to hide his tense face from view.

"Kazou! You are not here at your regular hours."

"How can you tell? It's dark in here —"

"Ah, it is not important. But is there a reason that you are waking me up in the middle of the night? Turn on the lights, please."

Kaz abides quickly before realizing that he's still garbed in black rather than his normal bright robes. Luckily, the mask is in his bag, still hanging behind him. His sword is loosely clutched in his hand, rinsed off in a stream he'd found on the way here, next to the silos that he's cut open. He hasn't slept in about a day — it's dawn — and the heaviness of what he might have done is settling into his bones. "You do not look good, Prince Kazou. What is troubling you?"

"You know," he whispers intently and angrily, because Iroh probably does know. Iroh, for whatever reason, knows a lot. "What's this tile for? I know it has something to do with you."

The old general looks like he's about to comment further on that subject before the tile in Kaz's hand catches the light. "Where did you get that?" He says sharply, moving to grab it. Kaz steps back.

"What is it?"

Iroh almost attempts to put a hand through the bars before realizing that isn't a possibility. Instead he falls back and stares at the lotus tile Kazou is clutching. "Where did you get that, Prince Kazou?"

Prince Kazou ran into Jiro's office a few hours ago. He just wants to be Kaz right now. "I found it," he says because that's enough of the truth. Iroh looks at him with some form of — is that disappointment? No, no. 

He cannot have Iroh, too, give him that look. Like his parents did and like the maid did and like Azula won't. Iroh can't know that he snuck out of the palace at night and probably killed someone and cut open the top hatch of three rice silos and is dreading going back to his bed in the morning. He needs to go back. But he's been held off and he wants answers and he wants to distract himself. This is not the reason he had expected to see these eyes. 

"You found it," he repeats, before sighing loudly. "You took it from your parents, did you not?"

"I — what does it mean? What is —"

"Perhaps this is what was destined. Although I am sure their journey will be much harder now."

"Stop talking like that," Kaz complains. "What does this stupid thing do?"

"It is not stupid," he's reproached. "There are some who still follow the ancient ways, Kazou. Perhaps you have been chosen in some way, to channel your bending and do good in the world."

He thinks about blood and can't hold in his shudder, so he hides it and jumps to his feet. "You — I can't believe I thought I was going to get anything from you. You're so unhelpful."

"It is important to ask questions. Especially when we doubt ourselves. Come here, Kazou," Iroh gestures, outlined in the thin flame, and Kaz warily puts the tile back in his undershirt pocket, where it always is, before moving closer. He nods sagely. "You have a mask, do you not? You have done good today."

The trusting look on Iroh's face almost breaks him, almost unleashes the flood. How does he explain — no. Of course this man thinks he's a paragon of good, thinks he's his father. He's terrible at doing good things. He slashed Jiro's throat. He hasn't done good today. Why does nobody understand him? Why did he — ugh. This is all too much and he's getting overwhelmed. Adrenaline let him run away from a burning building and had him hold onto the metal towers and slash their tops and send sentries running after him. But now it's phasing out and he's realizing that he did all of this under the moon and he left an unconscious half-dead man in a room on fire. He hasn't done good today at all. He'd tried and he'd failed and he'd injured some poor man. A man with a daughter — he might have been corrupt but he was surely not deserving of death. Even though it did come easy.

"Kazou? Are you —"

He holds out his hand and extinguishes the lamp before sprinting out of the hall.

Kazou sleeps through bending practice for the first time. When he forces himself out of his slumber, it's because Ryozo is pounding down his door and yelling something about the Fire Lord. The sun exiting through his window is harsh. It must be time for their tea soon. He reaches up and stretches before immediately jumping out of his bed and yelling for the man to come in. Any of the seconds in between leave him time to contemplate and he doesn't want to do that.

"Are you alright, Prince Kazou?" he's asked after he exits the washroom in his underlayers. Ryozo stands respectfully next to his closet with robes that are probably incrementally different from the ones he'd worn yesterday in his hands. 

"I was just sick," he responds shortly. "I'm fine."

"Are you alright to meet the Fire Lord?"

"Yes," he says, even though they both know that he has to follow Azula's demands no matter what. The fabric, heavy and smooth, slides over him, weighing him down like the sword he needs to clean, and he winces at the mirror as his attendant starts combing his hair back. It's long enough now to be pulled up properly. His crown is at his bedside, and Ryozo places it on carefully. Kaz adjusts it when he stands so that it doesn't dig into his pounding skull.

"Prince —"

"You can take your leave now. I'll go to the tearoom myself."

"Yes, Prince."

Ryozo is dutiful and exactly what a royal servant should be, he thinks, walking across the courtyard, grateful that nobody is crossing his path. I should feed the turtleducks. Perhaps I should go to some fancy dinner tonight and make it up to Azula. The sky looks nice today. I wonder if he's still alive or if I burned him. His guards weren't that incompetent, were they? What did I do? I need to plan. I needed a plan — I don’t want to — there is blood on my shoes — 

The door to the room they both frequent is open and when he wanders inside to settle onto a cushion Azula is already there, a cup of tea in hand and papers to the side. "Slept in, did you? You're late. Eat," she dictates. 

He crams a soft roll into his mouth, not quite sure what he's consuming. When she looks back up he swallows it quickly in order to not look so uncivilized. She's fingering the papers by her side. "Have you recovered, Kaz?"

So this is Aunt Azula. "Yeah, I'm fine now," he mutters. "I had a relaxing night."

"Yes," she raises an eyebrow. "You slept for an awfully long amount of time. You must be well rested."

And he knows that's political vagueness talking, because his eyes are red and circles are visible in the mirror. "I'm fine. I'm going to get that legis—legislation tonight."

"Don't stutter," she notes before sipping and licking her lips — for what reason he's not quite sure, as she's not eating anything. "I had the most startlingly relevant report come in today morning, actually."

He stays still. "Oh. That's interesting. What happened?"

"Well, it seems like Agni knew of your plan. That merchant Jiro — not even a noble at all, really, virtually worthless — was attacked last night, can you believe it? And nobody is quite sure who came after him. And that's barely relevant, of course, but some strange figure went to his storage silos, the one near the dirtier districts of the city, and cut them open. Rice went everywhere. It's been quite a disaster down there for the past few hours," she says. "I really wish you'd have woken up so that you could have taken the lead on this one."

"I —"

"Yes," she drawls. "Your health is, of course, one of my highest priorities. Still, I don't have the time to deal with such useless tasks. Present the work to me at dinner today. You can handle all the vigilantes."

"What happened to the merchant?"

"Ah. It was gruesome, I heard. I don't normally care about such things but I had to read the hospital report and it was rather ingenuitive. His throat was slit so he has vocal cord damage, I believe. Burns, and his head was rather strange when he was sent to the hospital. Someone had blocked a chi path to make him unconscious,” she says flatly.

At least she isn't being candid about what she's saying between her lines and at least she doesn't know about Iroh. He hopes. "This has sparked some protests within the population, of course. They're trying to take the grain and it's causing chaos. People are hungry."

"They should eat," he tests, and she taps against the cup. 

"They should, indeed. Even my war council does not like this strange person. Nen mentioned to me today morning that there is going to be a new radicalization movement in the Caldera. That the people will want more."

"I see," he fights the urge to shake his legs and concentrate all of his energy out. 

She's watching him like a hawk. "I trust that you will take care of this situation? Your word, Prince Kazou."

Azula steps up and he spills his open cup as he hastily rises. "Fire Lord Azula."

And then she disappears out the door and he stays inside, inelegantly throwing another bun into his face. He's famished but he can't drink the tea, so he lets it sit. 

The room is almost uncomfortable without another presence and he carefully gets up after a few minutes, mulling over that conversation. The first thing that settles into him is relief; Jiro is not dead. He hadn't — he hadn't gone that far, yet. The situation gets moved to the back of his mind. And the second is that he really needs to go and work on these papers now, especially if this cause is going to be his pet project from here on out. He's not sure why Azula is alright with protesters in the streets channeling all aspects of her court, but he won't complain.

He's out the door when he hears a telltale footstep to his side and straightens. "I will have your head for eavesdropping —"

Suddenly strong arms shove him back into the tearoom and slam the door behind him before he can think or react. He's grounded in a bending pose when he suddenly falls to the floor. "You have a lot of nerve," he growls. "I'm going to fire you."

Yesterday what this strange and almost nice girl had said to him, the implication that she'd thought he was something else . . . whatever she had meant had turned circles in his head, had made him feel much too much. He crosses his hands petulantly when he makes his way back up before reconsidering after a second and keeping his open palm out at her. "You're harassing me —"

Rini’s not dressed in her maid's outfit. She's in some kind of red, day clothes, and her hair is down and still choppy and she's bright red. "I'm sorry."

He flinches at the words and she notices but doesn't say anything. Without knowing how to respond he defaults and snaps. "Call me by my title."

"Prince — whatever, I — I'm sorry."

He should really kick her out but he hasn't heard anyone apologize to him in the longest time. Not for the first time that night in the kitchens runs through his head. Mopping up water, slipping around, her holding that pitcher to him, sitting down in the lamplight and talking about the ducks in the pond and the best part of the palace, the fact that she doesn't actually do his laundry, how much she admires Fire Nation fashion. He'd told her awkwardly about his sword-training and how he sometimes enjoys writing. It had been nice. It had been somewhat innocent and it felt good.

"About what?"

"I couldn't help but I — I overheard," she gestures to the room and he groans. "I . . . you were joking about Ba Sing Se, weren't you? The Earth Kingdom is, like, a metaphor. There's no war or anything. I heard about the thing with cutting down the prices of vegetables and food for the people and what happened and — I'm sorry, I felt bad. I judged you," she peeks up.

He doesn't know whether to curse or applaud his luck. She — she seriously perceived that conversation as a joke? Like he would joke. Like Azula would. But her wide and light eyes look awfully trusting and he wants a friend. There is no war to most of the inhabitants of the Fire Nation. Any thoughts of it have died out. "Uh, yeah."

"Oh, sorry, uh, Prince —”

"It's fine," he's almost wondrous. "I was -- I was being mean," he stumbles out. "You don't have to use that. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," she smiles. "You obviously have a lot on your shoulders and it wasn't fair of me to judge you. And I shouldn't even be — I shouldn't really be talking to you, should I?"

His heart is thumping in his chest. "No. It's not -- it's alright. You're . . . cool." Stupid Kazou. "Just stop listening in on conversations I have with my aunt —  the Fire Lord, okay? I don't even know how you sneak up on us."

She's red again. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to. I'm not even supposed to be here today."

He frowns, although the lines of his face are loose. "Why aren't you home, then?"

"You heard, didn't you? These gigantic towers of rice near my part of the town basically broke apart. There are soldiers everywhere," she giggles. "It's interesting but my mother made me come here because it’s safer. And they let me in."

He wonders if she, listening in, picked up on Azula's subtexts — he doesn't think she did. "Oh," he says, noting that the door is closed and motioning for her to take a seat next to him. He would tell her to sit across from him, to be further out, but he doesn't want her in Azula's seat. "Sounds rough. Some . . . guy did it, didn't he?"

"Could've been a girl," she teases. "But yeah, some guy basically killed the guy who owned all of it."

"That sounds . . ." he feels guilty having this conversation. "Justified, a little."

"What?" she exclaims as she settles down and looks at him. "No, it isn't. He wasn't nice but he didn't deserve to be attacked."

"Really?" he whispers. Rini doesn't notice.

"I'm glad that this guy opened the rice and wheat and everything but I hope that you find him. You're going to have to do an investigation and stuff, right? Doing stuff that's technically right in a wrong way isn't good. He should still be punished."

"Oh," he starts. "Uh, do you want some tea?"

"That would be really nice of you," she says widely, and he takes his untouched cup and lights up his hand briefly underneath it before handing it to her. She smiles and accepts it. "But anyway, this is a good time to say sorry. I heard stuff about you being sick, uh, Prince . . ."

"Just Kaz. You can call me Kaz."

"Kaz," she tries out. "I don't feel like I should be calling the Crown Prince by his first name. Or a nickname."

"You shouldn't be talking to me at all," he deadpans. "You're breaking proper etiquette procedure."

Rini nearly drops her tea and he winces. "I was kidding."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

She takes a sip and they stare at each for a moment. Then she laughs a little. "You look so tense, uh, Kaz? I'm not going to bite you or something."

"I'm sure you won't," he says, internally in conflict. "You like fashion, right?"

"Yeah. I'm surprised you remembered that —"

Kaz reheats the teacup five times over the next hour, wrapping himself up in friendly laughs and conversation. He doesn't want to think about what happened last night. 

Chapter Text

“I don’t want any trouble on my ship.”

Katara is ready to fall to her knees and beg that the suspicious old women just let them on the ferry — to her side, Zuko, bedraggled, looks like he’s about ready to do the same — but it’s her daughter who crosses her hands over her chest and stares her down. “We’re paying you. You let everyone else go. You have to let us go.”

The admiral, or whatever she is, almost seems like she’s softening before lightly snapping to Zuya. “Everyone else isn’t trouble, young one. Your family is gonna cause trouble.”

Before Katara can intervene Zuya asks back innocently. “Why —”

She pushes the girl over to her father who moves the both of them off the dock, nodding at Zuko as he wraps his arms around her and starts pointing at the fishes swimming in the shallow water of the port. When she turns back Lieutenant Aki is speaking again, spitting out words. She looks old and bedraggled, even with her hair harshly taken out of her face. “We don’t do mixed families in the Fire Nation, not like your colonies,” she warns. “Nobody does them. Take your kid and your husband and go back to the Earth Kingdom, miss. He might be a soldier,” she gestures towards Zuko and his clear-cut scar, “but colonized families aren’t welcome.”

“I don’t care about what’s welcome or not,” she hisses, reaching down for her coin purse and dragging out a handful of silver and gold coins. It’s a lot but they’re willing to spend here — it’s much more money than what this warship, now a glorified ferry, asks its passengers for. “We need to go.”

They really need to go. They’ve spent weeks trekking their way through the Earth Kingdom — she misses Appa — and she’s terrified about Kaz. And Eun, the member of the White Lotus she’d run into all those years ago, had been gone by the time they’d reached his home. He had left her a single message, handed over by his wife, an address to Piandao’s old home and a note: here, first. 

Both her and Zuko’s first instinct when they’d seen the piece of parchment was to forget it and just continue onto the Fire Nation Capital where Kazou probably is. But then they’d both calmed down and realized that the ferries that leave from this town on the harbor go through Shu Jing before they continue to the Caldera. They can stop there for a few hours if they need to, although they both remember seeing Piandao’s burned body on their way into the city. It’s likely that Eun was old and didn’t know this; as Zuko had said, his tone melancholy on their way back, the White Lotus do not know everything. 

She still has hope that they will find something; but before they can make any progress and find Kaz at all they need to secure passage on this boat. Aki seems a little convinced by the gold pooling in Katara’s hand so she shoves it closer. She takes one coin and holds it up to the light and she can almost feel Zuko’s wince — these are their life savings, meant to take Kaz through Ba Sing Se University — and then speaks again. “Fine. But more.”

“More? This is already more than you asked of —”

Her wrinkles move. “You will have to take a captain’s quarter because of your child. You cannot leave the room. Five more.”

Katara is still tense as she carefully picks out another five gold coins and hands them to Aki. The money exchanging hands is bad enough, not to mention their exploitation, but also the note of their child — they have two children. She’s lost in thought as the old woman rips three tickets out of her belt and hands them over, shoving them into her hands. This is a Fire Nation ship — they haven’t been in Fire Nation territory so far, and this is still technically Earth Kingdom, but . . . but these people are Fire Nation.

She has questions but she doesn’t even know if she should ask them. She doesn’t even know if she wants answers — Azula could have executed Kaz or murdered him or done something terrible to him and she might not know — she just wants this boat to leave as fast as possible. Zuko returns and she presses the tickets into his hands while Zuya reaches out for her waist. “I don’t like it when people do that.”

“Do what?”

“Just, don’t like us. For being us.”

She doesn’t know what to say. “People don’t like us because we’re —”

“I get it Mom,” Zuya says, and she sounds tired. “I’m not Kaz. You shouldn’t have been like that with him but — I know. I’m not blind, okay? We’re different. It’s fine.”

Zuko touches Zuya’s shoulder on the dockside. They think she knows the truth now. They don’t hide, anymore. They tell the truth as much as they can. “That doesn’t mean it’s alright, Zuya. You should never think it’s fine. It’s important to speak out against injustice.”

Her lips start trembling and she turns to the side until her face is squished between both of her parents. “That’s why Kaz left us. That’s so not fair.”

How can she argue against the truth? “Zuya —”

“I want him back, Mom. It’s not fair. He messed up and you guys messed up and everyone messed up. I just want to go back home.”

They’ve been travelling like this for weeks now and Zuya hasn’t broken down like this yet. Katara’s heart breaks and she leans down and puts her feet over the wooden side of the ramp leading up to the large metal ship. It’s midmorning and boarding for the journey tonight won’t start for a while — but they’d checked out of the small place they’d stayed for the night early and they have no place to go. After a second Zuya joins her, her small feet dangling over the clear blue waters. Zuko ends up sliding in besides her, keeping a firm grasp on their bags next to him. “I know,” he says after a heartbeat, an arm around her shoulders. “I know. We’re going to get him back.”

“It’s not going to be the same,” she croaks. “We can’t go back home and I can’t go home because you guys got in trouble and you’re not who you said you are.”

More than anything, Katara wishes that she could disagree with her daughter right here. She knows Zuko feels the same way; she wishes they could both just find Kaz and go back to the way it was with the tea shop. But she’s not about to tell another lie. “We’ll find a new home and a new school. It’ll be similar, sweetheart. Nothing is really going to change.”

“You’re wrong, Mom. Everything has changed,” Zuko reaches out to wipe one of her tears and she wraps her arms tightly around the both of them. “I want Kaz back. Really badly. And I want Aunt Ty. I miss them a lot.”

“Kaz is young and he loves us. He loves you. And I promise,” Zuko leans in to her to wipe away another tear and she does something like laugh — “I promise you’ll see Aunt Ty again. I’m sure she’s right behind us. Don’t worry, she’s fast.”

Zuya sniffles and Katara tightens her grip. Ty Lee had been given a strange concussion by her impact with the ground, on that day she doesn’t want to think of, and it had been a wound she hadn’t been able to heal. But she’d promised to come right after them and Katara is sure that she’s kept her word. For all she knows of Ty Lee, the woman might already be in the Caldera.

After a few more seconds of quiet recollection as they hug each other Katara slyly reaches down to the water and draws a ball up to Zuya’s face, using the droplets to wipe away her tear stains. She laughs a little as the water rubs against her, warm in the sun’s light, and looks out into the vast expanse of the ocean around her.

Katara ends up taking the water and running it over her face methodically until the rhythm lets her fall asleep, head nodding towards Zuko, who wraps an arm around her to ensure that she doesn’t fall into the ocean. He kisses the crown of his daughter’s brown hair and reaches up to make eye contact with her as well.

They truly don’t have words to say at this moment, but they can also both tell that Zuya’s words sliced through their hearts. Katara doesn’t have it in her to stop once she starts thinking about everything again — her eyes sink off his and her face bends until she’s moved Zuya into the crook of her neck, the top of her head touching Zuko’s chin. One of her hands reaches out to trace the fingertips of the hand that’s clutching Zuya’s green skirt. 

“What are we going to do?” she whispers even though it’s rhetorical. “What have we done?”

She knows she can’t get answers right now because they don’t exist. “Step by step. We messed up,” he repeats like he does constantly, his throat thick, and she taps on his fingers and lets the warm air flow over them. “Do you remember what happened the last time we were here?” he questions after a moment.

Katara murmurs in response and he takes up the mantle to speak, softly whispering. “Remember that terrible storm, all those years ago?”

“Oh,” she says. “Yes. Sokka and Aang —”

She stops midway and squeezes one of his fingers especially hard. “I think it was a little south of here, that village.”

“Right,” her giggle is unconvincing but still alleviates some of the pressure in her head. “I remember how you grabbed my wrists. And tied me up.”

“I didn’t see anything like this coming back then.”

“Of course you didn’t, Mr. Ponytail,” she teases. “I was a peasant and you were trying to save the world.”

“My world.”

“No,” she breathes. “You were trying, Zuko.”

“Then I guess I’ve been failing since,” he grumbles.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she says lightly before her tone evaporates and she’s back to the present. “We can ask the crew about him. If they know anything —”

He shudders. “I asked a few members of this crew last night in the pub. They haven’t been back to the Caldera in half a year.”

“What’ve they been doing, then? Haven’t they heard something —”

“It probably wouldn’t be accurate, anyway. Just that Azula was missing last they’d checked, I heard. And she’s back now,” he shifts. “All these former warships have been going around. They went all the way to the North Pole —”

“Maybe we should go back there. After.”

“Yeah,” he says, and she wishes he wouldn’t confirm their delusions. But she also can’t blame him. They both want to have hope here; hope that this won’t be the beginning of the end. Zuya breathes deeply against them and Katara smooths her hair out of her face. Zuko’s feet are skimming the water. “I’m sorry.”

Her grip goes loose. “Me too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. And I love Kaz and Zuya,” she’s crying again and pulls back to see his lips twitch. “I just wanted us to be okay. Why can’t we be okay, Zuko? Why do we have to keep losing everything?”

“I want to know,” he whispers. “I want to — but it was worth it, wasn’t it? All of it. Ba Sing Se. However long we had. It was worth it,” he says with finality.

“Stop talking like that. We’ll be fine —”

“We might be fine,” he acquiesces. “But it won’t ever be the same. And . . .”

“That’s okay. As long as we’re together. That’s okay.”

Chapter Text

“Aren’t you warm, though?”

Kazou pulls on the heavy silk of his robes. “Yeah, I guess. But I’m always hot. It’s part of being a firebender.”

“Can I . . .” Rini reaches over and he holds out his sleeve to her. She runs her fingers, nails neat, over the red fabric. The silk itself is airy, but it’s layered to create a rather spiky and scary look and although it’s rather cool on his skin outdoors it can get sweaty when he’s inside. And they’re both inside right now, sitting in his . . . receiving room, or whatever this is supposed to be. He doesn’t think he’s ever been here before even though it connects to his bedroom. “Yeah, I don’t know why there are so many layers here. Well, I guess it makes you look bigger than you are . . .”

“Should I be offended?” He kind of is.

“. . . No. It’s a tactic that a lot of the seamstresses in the middle district use with the younger nobles in the market. But with the older ones they have to try to hide the stomachs and stuff.”

She lets go and he tenses back into the cushion. “Do you want to be one of those seamstresses?”

“I guess. I mean,” she swallows and her brown hair falls into her face. It tends to do that when she’s nervous. “My dream would be to work at the palace. Working for the royal family is everyone’s dream. Well, not everyone’s dream. But you know what I mean.”

He taps his hands against the low table, tracing her hands with his eyes as she grabs another cup of tea. He doesn't know why she is because it took her two hours to finish the last one and he’d constantly had to heat it up, but to each their own. “There are seamstresses who work at the palace?”

She points to the fabric draping off of his arms before gesturing at her clean and yet rather plain outfit. “Who do you think makes your clothes?”

Kaz blushes because he honestly hasn’t thought about it in a while. At home Mom used to make or mend theirs, and occasionally they’d get new items — usually for special events, or for school — from the market. The clothing here just appears with Ryozo and he’s never questioned it. “I don’t know.”

She looks at him with a rather serious look on her face and he’s scared that he’s terribly messed up for a second before she bursts out into laughter. “You’re so easy, Kaz. Really. I’m not mad at you. I doubt any of you fancy people know what goes on around you.”

Rini says his name differently than his parents do — without the hard sound that constitutes his mother’s name. She says it softly and it’s different and strange, because she’s the only person in the Fire Nation who he’s trusted yet to call him by the nickname. An image comes to his mind, briefly, of Nen or Genji summoning him with nothing by the monosyllabic word, and the corners of his mouth turn up. 

“There you have it,” she leans back, her smile still easy-going, but he feels guilty.

“I don’t want to be ignorant or anything. I . . .” he doesn’t think this will help. “I didn’t really have much help like this before. Or anything like this before.”

He’s braced for her interrogation, the incessant questions which are sure to follow that statement — you appeared out of nowhere, where are you from — but she suddenly clams up. And he finds that odd because this might only be his fourth or fifth civil conversation with Rini but he definitely knows at this point that she’s a rapid-fire speaker and doesn’t stop unless it’s to listen to his small interjections while she rolls on the balls of her feet. 

“Oh.”

“That’s it?”

She takes a sip of her tea gingerly, and that’s how he knows something is wrong. The steam already looks like it’s gone so he reaches out a hand underneath it and she pulls it back, droplets falling on her white outfit. He moves back with a frown and something heavy in his chest when he takes in her green eyes staring intently at the cold liquid and her bottom lip bitten. “What’s wrong?”

“Just — we’re not supposed to ask you about what happened before you came here,” she says uncharacteristically quietly, and he frowns at that.

“Did my aunt tell you that?” She nods and he taps harder against the table, moving the teapot a notch to the side. “You can ask me. It doesn’t matter.”

“She’s kinda scary, you know.”

“I’m scary too,” he says almost petulantly, and that brings a smile back to her face. 

“Yeah, you can act like you’re tough. But you’re not,” the words are lighthearted, probably teasing if he’s analyzing them correctly, and he almost turns red again. And also a little like a failure, like he should snap back and say something but — no. He takes a sip of his steaming cup, reaching out a hand once again. She allows him to reheat the tea. “But if you’re okay with answering questions. And you won’t sell me out . . .”

“Never.”

“Okay,” she smiles. “Who did help you before? With your clothes and stuff?”

The innocent way she says that, hair flopping in her eyes again and mouth quirking, breaks him a bit. He’d thought she would ask the basic and curious questions: ones about where he was and who his parents are and if his father is alive. His clothing is much too irreproachable an enquiry and any doubts about her sincerity evaporate when he sees the trusting look in her eyes. 

“My mom,” he admits. “She used to just help me figure out what to wear.”

“You’re your mother’s son, then, aren’t you?” he’s goaded, and he bites his lip to hide the fact that the statement elicits a sobering visage. Yeah, he is. 

“What about your mother? Does she work here too?”

Rini looks outside the window, where it’s dark, turning her face away from his. “No, she works near our home, taking care of some of the neighbor’s kids.”

“Oh.” Then another thought comes to mind. “How old are you?”

“I don’t —” she starts. “Uh, fifteen.”

She sounds uncertain and he puts that away because he’s confused. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Her cup hits the table hard. “I finished school last year. It’s fine. It’s not like you go to school —”

Her fast pace and worried features give her away; she feels something about this. “I have tutors and lessons and things. It’s basically school.”

“We don’t all need school. I can be smart without having fancy tutors —”

“Whoa,” he holds out his hands for a second, his voice almost edging out of its constantly unemotional state. “I didn’t mean that — you’re smart. Really smart. I was just curious. You’re one of the youngest people here.” She is.

“Yeah, I,” she breathes out and holds the cup again, taking an awkward sip. “I get sort of defensive about that, sorry. My mother . . . got really hurt, last year, in an accident in one of the factories. One of her arms. We didn’t have much —”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, and it’s fully genuine. “You shouldn’t have had to — you shouldn’t be here.”

She smiles weakly and almost comically chugs what’s left in her glass before picking up his and the pot, balancing it in her arms, pointing her chin out to where the sun has set. “I should go back to the kitchens before I have to go home.”

Kaz draws himself up to his feet. “Don’t stay alone,” he notes before something else starts worming its way into his mind. Rini’s mother unable to work — the days she has to spend working here instead of going to school because of that. Before the shop did well when he was younger his mom and dad used to live in a small beaten down apartment, and for years they hadn’t had much at all. It had been a few years after he was born that they’d managed to save up enough to buy their house, and even then it had been longer before that loan was paid off. She doesn’t know that he knows her struggle, and he might not, completely, but he wants to help anyway.  

“Hey,” he says before she rounds out the door. “You live in the Cabbage District, don’t you? Like where that rice was, the buildings that got torn down.”

“Yeah. We don’t usually call it that, though.”

“It’s where a lot of the silos are, right?”

“Yeah,” she balances the teacup against her hip and he reaches out to grab it. “You don’t have to do that. Why do you ask, anyway?”

“The investigation I’m doing. I feel like the person I’m trying to catch might target the area again,” he smirks before grabbing the pot from her as well and coming out. “I need to stop by the library and the archives. I’ll walk you to the kitchen.”

Unfortunately, he isn’t able to find targets as easy as the enticingly challenging silos this time, but after a few hours going through the Fire Nation’s meticulous merchant notes he’s able to figure out that there was a shipment of fresh vegetables which came through the dockside this morning — it’ll be kept in a warehouse in the Cabbage (or lower-east, he supposes) District overnight until it’s ready to be sold to restaurants and struggling vendors the next morning. He knows vegetables are staples, at least.

It isn’t until he’s climbed a tree and is poised to jump on top of the wooden structure that he once again realizes that this isn’t going to be like the rice, where he can just cut open a hole and everything will come out. The vegetables are packed tightly inside of cartons, he thinks, and he doesn’t have the strength to just throw dozens of boxes out onto the street.

The mask is clammy against his skin and he’s debating a retreat when he feels cool metal next to his throat. A small movement of his legs lets him realize that his sword is still clinging to his back. So this is someone else’s weapon.

If he’s executed right now a lot of bad things will happen. He’ll probably never see his parents again and they might not like him anymore but he’s pretty positive they don’t want him dead. Azula will probably be pissed and she’ll learn that he’s the one causing the mayhem here. The rest of her cabinet will figure it out. Iroh will probably die in that cell.

“Who are you?” he hisses through clenched teeth, muscles tensed and ready to jump to the side. Off the branch, probably. His eyes dip down and he can see that the leap is significant. Still, he’d rather take another broken bone than death. He’s not sure how he would explain that, either — 

“The question is who are you?” A rather deep male voice booms, almost happily. The blade retracts from his neck but he doesn’t dare turn around. “And what exactly are you trying to do?”

He sounds curious.

“Did you follow me?”

“Sorry to say . . . son? You’re rather young, aren’t you — you’re not the quietest. You should work on your stealth. I could hear you going through the leaves here like an ostrich-horse.”

“Fine,” he says tightly. “You’ve made your point.”

A heartbeat passes. “What are you trying to do?”

He’s not at risk of death anymore but the ground is starting to look rather tempting. This man could change his mind at any moment and slice his neck open. “What do you think?”

“Ah, a mask,” a hand reaches out to trace the smooth contours of it, and Kaz, shocked, reaches up to deflect it. He almost loses his balance on the branch before a hand, large and warm, sits on his shoulder and holds him down. He wishes he’d fallen down — he probably can’t even try in this position. “Oh, you’re the one who did that incident with the rice. I heard about that on my first day here,” his tone is so bright. “What’s this? You trying to cause trouble again?”

“Are you going to report me?” he scoffs.

“No, son. I don’t work for the Fire Nation,” those words don’t sound calming. “Not the biggest fan of them at all, actually,” and that’s worse, because this man could kill this nation’s prince if he wanted to. “What’s in the building?”

“Produce,” he says. “I was going to —”

“You were going to play hero again,” he can almost feel the nod from behind his shoulder. “Great. What’s the plan?

“W—wait. What?”

The hand on him swivels and turns him until he’s facing the large person behind him. It’s hard to see a face in the moonlight, but the man is taller than him, his hair shorn at the sides, and his muscles are outlined between the leaves. 

“Not a big fan of the Fire Nation, didn’t I say? I think you’re trying to do the right thing.”

Kaz freezes. “I don’t have a plan.”

“That’s fine,” and suddenly the moon moves overhead so that he can see dimples and skin that’s the same warm shade as his own. “I’m good at plans. What’s your name, son?”

He stays silent. “Okay, then. I’ll call you Blue. Had an old friend once who liked wearing masks and running around causing trouble. You Fire Nation, Blue?”

Kazou nods roughly, because the sharpness of this man’s jawbone and the soft edges of his face, the warm tone, look like his mother’s. There’s a sword strapped across his back, black as night, and his eyes are blue and sparkling. “I’m Sokka. Master Sokka, actually, but you don’t have to call me that. Let’s go in, yeah?”

Chapter Text

“Leaving so soon?”

He steps resolutely forward again. “I don’t want to —”

“I just helped you create absolute chaos, Blue. Let’s talk for a bit.”

Kaz accidentally crunches a twig underfoot and then stands still — Sokka is right, he isn’t exactly the stealthiest. “I have to go home,” he mutters.

“You’ve been out half the night, I’m sure your folks won’t notice if you slip in a bit late as long as you’re back before dawn.”

No, he shouldn’t stop to talk with the strange man who’d help him careen cabbage over the walls of the storage building. He really shouldn’t, but he doesn’t exactly feel like checking in on Iroh and growing frustrated today and his sleep schedule is messed up anyway. Another step leads to a leaf crunching and something flying into his face; he dislikes this part of the foliage. “Fine,” he turns around to see Sokka sitting on a rock and staring at him with a rough smile. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I told you. I’m Sokka,” he holds out his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, and Kaz thuds onto one of the other stones in the area, shifting himself when the rugged surface bites into his skin. “I’m more curious about who you are.”

He bites his lip and hopes it’s not obvious — the mask doesn’t hide the lower portion of his face that well. “I’m nobody.”

And yet he knows that statement isn’t convincing — how many dark-skinned Fire Nation princes are there? Sokka, he’d decided while inside, is definitely water tribe. That leaves him with questions he wants answered and also doesn’t want to be asked. If Sokka knows anything about the Fire Nation monarchy as it currently is, if he’s heard the rumors or seen him in the palace . . . there’s a heavy chance that he’s well aware of who’s under the mask, and that’s terrifying.

“You’re Fire Nation?”

He nods roughly. “Yes.”

“And you’re . . . Northern Water Tribe?”

He shudders but he can’t deny it. “I don’t know which tribe.”

“Ah,” Sokka leans to the side and opens up towards him — it’s a clear sign of trust. “I have not seen one of my people in a long time. And I never expected to find someone that was of both nations here. Tell me,” he whispers loudly, “was it your mother? Was your father a soldier?”

“Yes,” he says, because that’s close to the truth and what he had almost believed for the longest time. The man looks sad all of a sudden.

“I hope she’s alright, now. Some cruelty knows no bounds.”

“Oh — oh,” and it feels dirty, so wrong, that something could even think that his father hurt his mother. “No, it’s not . . . it’s not like that. My father was a deserter in the war and my mom was a healer and they fell in love.”

“A waterbender, then,” his eyes light up a bit. “Are you one?”

Kaz lights up his palm in response to that, willing his flames to stay orange, to stay ordinary, under the starry sky. Sokka nods at the display as he turns it out. “But you use a sword. You didn’t bend, today.”

I don’t have enough control and my flames would be obvious. “Dad taught me.”

A few seconds pass before Sokka tentatively encroaches further upon the subject. “Your father was a bender and a swordsman, then. Funny coincidences,” Kaz doesn’t know how to respond so he stays quiet. “Are they . . .”

He has to lie or there’s no reason for him to be here, in the Caldera. “Yeah. I live with my aunt now.”

“A good woman, then, for taking you in,” Kaz will not laugh — he knows that if this man knew he was talking about the Fire Lord he would more than reconsider his words. “I’m sorry for your loss, Blue,” he finishes soberly. “I like the mask, though — very water tribe. Was it your mother’s?”

“Yeah,” he holds up a hand to the glossy finish. It must be strange to talk to a boy in a mask — he’d almost forgotten that he was wearing one himself. Suddenly, once again, he misses his mother’s touch so urgently — her tight hugs and calming caresses, the way she would play with water, how her cooling touch canceled out his own. He’s caught up in a wave of emotion when he chokes out again, glad that his face isn’t visible, “I miss her.”

“I’m sorry, son,” Sokka looks at him with a strangely broken look. “I — I lost a lot in the war. When I was younger I lost my mother to the Fire Nation. And then when I was a teenager I lost my sister and my father and my grandmother and all of my friends and now I’m alone.”

The sheer sadness that escapes from this towering monster of a person, who’s drawn out a black sword and his wiping the blade with a cloth he has produced out of somewhere, is awe-inducing in the worst kind of way. “I’m sorry. That you’re alone.”

It’s given a rueful smile. “Your mother was probably from the North Pole. There weren’t any healers helping deserters when I was your age from the South Pole, where I’m from.”

He tries to think about where exactly his mother is from but he can’t remember. “She never really told me much about it.”

“Perhaps she didn’t want to remember,” Sokka says. “The war was rough and she must have left home when she was young. In the North Pole women are healers, all the waterbenders. It’s a tough culture, ours. Never once has Agna Qel’a fallen. After the war when the Southern Water Tribe was all but gone they all went there too. And now there is little left of the south,” he continues wryly. “Still, I hope they have continued some of our traditions up there.”

“If you’re from the Northern Water Tribe then . . . why are you here?”

“I live in Shu Jing. I am a swordmaster and my old master perished in the war so I took up his residence. There is nothing left for me in my old home.”

“You live in — why are you here, still?” Kaz is confused. “If you hate the Fire Nation then why do you live here? And why are you in the Caldera?”

“I have some business to take care of here before I go back home. I have not been here in a long time — but I’d heard that the Fire Lord was missing and that there’s a new prince and that suddenly there is a lot going on in the palace.”

“Are you going to . . . attack the palace?”

He attempts to hide his fear with a lilt in his tone, something like jubilence; he thinks he does it a little too well because Sokka pounds the stone. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

No. “I don’t get why.”

“No, I’m not going to attack the palace. I’m done fighting in wars. I don’t have much left to lose but anything is still something.”

“So you’re here because . . .”

“I have to meet an old friend, Blue,” Sokka winks. “Something happened to him and he reached out to me for the first time in years. I thought it was a fine time to pay a visit and see what’s going on here. I will admit I’ve been staying out of affairs here for a while. I am not the biggest fan of your Fire Lord,” he chuckles. “And you must not be — that’s why you’re doing this, are you not? You live here.”

“I . . . no, actually. One of my friends does. And she needed help so . . .”

“I see,” suddenly the towering water tribe man seems a lot closer to him, his blue eyes large and moon-like. Kaz takes in his environment again — the quietness of the trees, the darkness of the night, the gravel underfoot — and wonders what part of him thought that speaking to a random if helpful stranger about his life was a good idea. But then again, he feels like he’s tied to this man on a string — perhaps because of heritage, perhaps because of loss. He wonders if he can ask if Sokka knows his mother . . . but then maybe that wouldn’t be the best idea. And the likely answer to that will be ‘no’. “You’re not from here.”

“I’m Fire Nation,” he confirms, surprised.

“Not from here,” Sokka gesticulates with his arms. “Not from this district — I can tell. That mask is well-made and even your clothes are. Your . . . aunt is a noble, is she not?”

If only. “Yes.”

“And then why are you . . . trying to impress someone then, are you?”

He turns bright red and is once again glad his face isn’t visible. “No! This is the right thing.”

“Next time you do the ‘right thing’,” Sokka snickers, “think about it first. You’re accomplished for your age but these are some laws to be breaking.”

“I know,” Kaz grumbles. “The — the prince is looking for me.”

Sokka settles back down. “Ah, this mysterious Fire Nation prince. Never though old Azula would have a kid, and then hide him, but I suppose even she can be human sometimes —”

“He’s not —” no, this is fine. “Yeah. That’s the . . . prince.”

“I suppose he’s just as terrible as the rest,” he places his neck against a tree trunk. “Crazy, all of that line. All the goods ones don’t make it in that family, Blue. You don’t want some kind of monster like that on your trail. What’s his name?”

Monster. Of course — but the word doesn’t even bite this time because it’s a descriptor for Azula and not him, and he understands even if he dislikes that that conclusion can be drawn. “Crown Prince Kazou,” he says firmly. He’d repeated those words to himself in the mirror for days on end when he’d first come here, unable to do much else with his arm in a sling. “That’s his name.”

“Sounds rough,” Sokka yawns. “Sure anyone is worth having something like that on your trail?”

His mask is lifted up enough for his smirk to be visible. “I’m sure that I can evade some stuck-up prince.” And once again he feels that distinction — the one between the Fire Nation’s Crown Prince and Kaz. But then again, it was still Kaz who held up a sword to Jiro’s throat. That situation has been hushed outside of the palace and he’s glad that Sokka is unaware of what happened that night. He feels that this man is a — justified — pillar of something like righteousness, and Rini’s sentence floats through his brain. Doing stuff that's technically right in a wrong way isn't good. He should still be punished. And that’s funny, because the person he’s doing this for probably thinks he should be in jail. She also probably thinks that he is catching himself.

Being two people at once is difficult. Sokka’s yawn grows louder — “If you say so, buddy. Good job with those swords, by the way. Your father or your tutors or whoever’s got you covered pretty well. I’m a swordmaster, though,” he takes the black weapon in his hand and swings it around in a perfect circle, “so I think I might have a bit more on them. I like you.”

Kaz hadn’t been able to see much of Sokka in action, partly because they hadn’t actually needed to fight anyone on the way in or out. But he can very much believe that he is, indeed, a master. “Um. Thanks.”

“And you know what, Blue? I’ll be here for the next six or seven days. You need help, find me. I’ve got you covered. We can work on your planning.”

“Where would —”

“This place’ll be crawling with palace informants,” Sokka says. Then he points far to the left. “Underneath the two rocks out there. You know what I mean?”

“Why —”

“It’s nice to see a familiar face,” he says as he finally hoists himself up. “And for whatever reason, you remind me of myself. Stay safe, son.”

Something purple glints over the horizon, so after sitting for a moment in silence Kaz lifts himself up and checks that his sword is inside its sheath before slowly jogging back home, stepping around crunchy and dead flora.  

Chapter Text

“You’re too grounded."

"Yeah, well, sorry. I'm a firebender. We tend to like the ground."

"You're also from a water tribe," Sokka chastises as he walks another circle around Kaz. "And that means you need fluidity."

He sighs and tosses his sword on the ground, standing up and searching for a clear place to sit down with his feet. When his toes touch something that isn't quite grassy he falls down, ignoring the mud he's going to track back home. "Everyone else said that I'm doing fine."

"You can always do better. Come on, now. Get up." He sits with his arms crossed and Sokka chuckles before pressing a warm hand to his shoulder. "I don’t want to be mean or anything, Blue. But I think that those Fire Nation tutors of yours might be a little close-minded.”

“What does that mean?” Kaz asks crossly. "I'm Fire Nation and we have a way that we fight. You don't fight like that, though."

"No, I still stick to my roots. And I know that you were originally taught another way — your initial stance gives you away. You're unlearning something."

"No I'm not."

"Your father," Sokka continues after a second. "He must have learned something from your mother. One of my old friends used to fight a little bit like you," he squints. "And he wore the mask as well. Strange coincidences."

Those words — an old friend who wore a mask and fought like him. How many people run around the Fire Nation wearing blue masks? Not very many. Only one other, he thinks. He swallows and figures that he maybe should have gone to see Iroh tonight instead of coming here. Sure, that conversation would've been pointless, but maybe he could have learnt more about his parents anyway. He doesn't know what he'd intended to accomplish by fighting with this strange man. And then he gets up. He doesn't want Sokka to keep on talking.

"Fine," he huffs, settling into one of his stances before noticing Sokka's reproach and stepping out of it. "What do I do?"

In response a black blade comes out of nowhere and slams into where he'd just stood. He jumps back and his mouth widens, the bottom part of it clearly visible. Kazou almost slips on the mud. "What was — you can't do that!"

The moon illuminates a bright white and somewhat devious smile. "Just relax, Blue."

And then his sweaty hand raises his sword to weakly defend against another stroke right towards his heart. His grip is weak and Sokka pressures him, forcing his feet to skim the ground until his back is suddenly pressed flush to a tree. In a burst of inspiration he tries to force his fingers to clutch his grip tighter and tugs out of the way. When he ducks he hears something thud below . . . and as he scatters away he blanches as he sees a sword embedded into the tree he'd just been against. 

"Are you trying to kill me?"

Maybe he does know who I am. "I'm testing you."

Bright gold eyes flash at him, blue flames, and he's remembering a time only a few months ago when Azula pressed a ball of fire so close to his face his skin felt like melting. And yet this feels different. And he's loitered in this stance for too long — he skitters out of the way as another strong loop of the sword makes its way across the dark night. He feels it flow through the air before he can see it, but he's still a little too late. It nicks his neck and when he holds up his hand there he feels something like blood even though it's not stinging at all.

Kaz is ready to jump out of the way of another attack when Sokka laughs. “I’m not actually gonna hurt you, okay?”

“Okay —” and he pirouettes away and deflects the next blow unintentionally.

“I’ll give you a second to wipe off your hands. Sweat doesn’t do it.”

“I — okay,” he reaches down and swipes his palms off on his outfit, then grabs his sword with his right hand. It feels firmer now, and he’s prepared for the blow that comes down on his head. He holds his ground firmly as Sokka pressures down before eventually breaking away and moving to the side.

“That’s better. But you’re too slow,” metal clangs above his head. The moon’s risen higher into the sky and now it’s easier to see body parts moving. Here’s the issue with swordfighting versus firebending — physicality is an advantage when you’re a nonbender, more so than it is with bending. Azula is inches shorter than him now and she could kill him without a second thought — and he hasn’t given this a second thought. He’s a firebender.

But his training is in stances and katas, in ways to kick up firmly off the ground. He doesn't know how to bend with a sword in his hand. He doesn't, at least, until Sokka's sword flies past his ear. When he swings his to step back sparks arise from it and almost coat the metal surface — luckily, his grip is leather. 

He jumps back after that, poised on his toes, anticipating the next blow, but it doesn't come. After a bleary second and as his adrenaline goes down he realizes that his sparks were blue. Control, Kaz. He still doesn't have it. It sucks. And it probably gave him away. Or maybe . . .

"Sorry, I . . ." Sokka coughs and moves away. There are still sparks on the floor, little embers on the leaves. Kazou slowly moves forward and stomps them out. "Let's take a break."

"But we barely — was I doing that bad?" He was scared while they were swinging but in hindsight he thinks that battle was kind of fun. Something slips down his throat and he realizes that it's his blood, even if the cut still doesn't hurt.

"No, you did fine," he's given a weary smile. "And you let go of the ground — you did good, stayed fluid. Good style. I just . . ."

"Was it . . . my fire?" He might as well say it upfront. Sokka turns his head up. 

"Is it . . . common? Having it be that color?"

"I don't know, mine's always been like that," he lies. "My dad used to say blue meant focus."

"Alright, then. I . . . the last person I saw bend blue was Azula . . . your Fire Lord."

Kaz exhales and slides onto the ground again. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, not letting himself think before he speaks. The strands are longer than they've ever been. "You call the Fire Lord by her first name?" 

He doesn't think anyone else has used it, at least without a title. He said Fire Lord like an afterthought.

Sokka grimaces. "She doesn't deserve the title. She's not . . . she's crazy."

"Yeah," Kaz agrees firmly in a heartbeat, though he soon realizes that they're probably thinking about the word differently. "How do you . . ."

"We fought against each other. During the war."

"You talk a lot about the war," he treads ahead after a moment. Sokka is gazing out towards the moon, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth turned downward.

"I don't mean to," he says sadly. "But I think it's defined me."

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. Sokka’s sword is on the ground. The man picks it back up and then glances back to where he’s sitting. The mask is still on his face, though a bit loose. It covers his features but doesn’t suffocate him.

“Don’t be,” he says quietly before tapping his almost grimy fingers against his chin. “You know, that mask really is something. You heard of the Blue Spirit, Blue?”

“Uh, yeah,” he admits. “I . . . that’s where you got the nickname, right?”

Sokka smiles. “Yeah. He was one of my old buddies, actually.”

And that’s it. Kaz freezes, utterly and completely, where he’s half sitting and standing, hoping Sokka can’t read his hesitation. He wants to just run away from this and forget it happened but he has to think objectively . . . he should. “Oh. Who was he?”

“A pretty big guy. I might not be supposed to tell you but . . . he’s gone, after all,” no he’s not. “The Fire Nation’s former prince. Zuko, if you’ve heard,” he twists his head. “Do they even teach you about that one?”

“Yeah,” he’s not sure if his dad is actually in his subject matter, but thinking about it makes him vulnerable. He pops off the ground with faux optimism. “Can you attack me again?”

Sokka looks at him strangely — probably because he should be curious about what he was just told. Anyone would be and he’s trying to project that he’s anyone and no one but he also doesn’t think he has the ability to hide his feelings about his father.

“Are you —” before Sokka can finish the sentence he has to raise his sword to block Kaz’s admittedly weak blow. “He was a firebender, you know. I don’t think he bent when he was the Blue Spirit but he was absolutely amazing with swords. I think I recall him bending and fighting the few times we sparred."

There are questions he should be asking here: you knew the Fire Nation's prince, you sparred with him, who really are you? But he doesn't want to ask him even though he should, so he lunges over and draws his sword down to the side, suddenly playing the aggressor. He's pushed to the side — he knows he isn't a real challenge for a master — but that's fine.

"He was really inspirational, even when he wasn't the Blue Spirit . . ."

"I'm sure."

"Really?" he's asked as Sokka parries yet another hit. "I wouldn't have thought you'd have learnt anything positive about him. But he was a good man."

"Yeah."

"You doing okay there, son? You seem a little off," and isn't he? Sparks fly out of his hands as the master inflects the last part of his sentence. "Whoa, no need to get angry."

"I'm not angry."

"Did I say something — watch out. Good job staying off the floor, though — hey," a swiping circle of flame flies over Sokka's head and he ducks. When he turns back up a few errant strands of his small ponytail look fried. "Why are you angry?"

"I'm not!"

Sokka sidesteps another blast and once again places his fingers to his chin, his sword still tight in his grasp. "Anger might fuel your bending for now but it probably won't work out in the long run. You need to be stable to fight properly."

"I'm stable."

"You're in denial. Did I say something?"

The small clearing is a little more alight now, the moon full and sparks coating the ground like fireflies. It would almost be a pretty scene if a misstep wouldn't set the entire forest on fire. The trees lurk behind Sokka and across from him, like they're witnesses to this — whatever this is. He wants to run away. He doesn't want to confront the strange fuel which is increasing the fire within his chest, doesn't want to realize what's slowly becoming clear. Sokka is looking up at the moon again and he's remembering one of Iroh's stories. He never heard the rest.

He doesn't know what to do. But Sokka said he'd lost his sister . . . what does that mean? What can he do about that? Nothing, not much. He doesn't have his mother here and he has his aunt and he thinks . . . no. 

"You fought with the Avatar," he chokes out after a second of some sort of staredown as Sokka looks back at him. The man nods but doesn't say anything, still seemingly a little confused. 

"I don't often admit it," he says. "How do you know?"

It's justice that has Kaz realize, a little too late, that his mask has almost completely fallen off. It had loosened during the initial fight and been swept away by his futile attempts at aggression, and now it's hanging on by a single thread. He shakes a little, unsure how to open that sentence, and his quivering features give him away.

The smooth and pearlescent mask falls away onto the floor with a thud, his face red and full of bluster beneath, and his eyes face the ground with it. He doesn't know what just happened — doesn't know what it'll mean. And almost half a minute later when he glances back up it's to blue eyes wide.

"Katara?"

Chapter Text

“You, Katara — Katara isn’t —”

“Uh, she’s my mom,” Kaz manages to croak out as Sokka runs his eyes over him, tracing his features with incredulity mapped across his. He’s never thought that he looks especially like his mother, but maybe he does. It’s nice to feel that difference, to feel like he isn’t necessarily his father done over. But that warmth goes away when he realizes that he’s dug himself into another hole and needs to find a way to get himself out of this. Sokka — his mother’s brother, he puts into words — can’t know why he’s truly here. Nobody should.

“Katara — Katara is your mother. Katara —” his face shines for a moment before growing panicked and tight. “But your parents are gone.”

That’s what Kazou should claim because that would make everything easier. He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain his noble aunt and swordmaster away, let alone why he isn’t with his parents, so he should really just claim that they’re both gone. But yesterday Sokka told him about losing everything to war and he isn’t cold enough to refuse him this. “I . . . no, they’re not. I’m just not with them right now.”

And then all of a sudden Sokka has lurched forward and his hands are on Kaz’s face. He’s reminded of Iroh, staring at him through a prison cell, and there is pure heartbreak and love in the man’s blue irises. It’s wondrous, how they can both see different people in him. He’s been trying to escape his parents but they really are a part of him. 

“Katara,” he breathes again. “Katara’s alive. She’s —” he gasps out, almost, like he’s almost about to be brought to his knees. And then he does fall to them, looking up. All Kaz can do is stand dumbstruck as a large hand searches out his own, still sweaty and stained with blood, and smile. And maybe cry. He can’t be blamed.

He stays stuck in that position for a few minutes, not willing to move and allow Sokka to think about anything. Instead, he attempts to come up with a cover story. He told Sokka the name of the Crown Prince but he can say his nickname, sounded hard instead of smooth in the Fire Nation way, is his — and that’s believable. Why is he in the Fire Nation? Who is his aunt here? Sokka knows that Azula is Zuko’s sister and he can’t claim . . . who else does he have? 

Aunt Ty, he remembers after a second, and he doesn’t think that this is a perfect plan but it will have to work. The woman is Fire Nation and his parents could have . . . sent him here during these summer months to get an education or practice bending or whatever. Hopefully, he won’t be asked too many questions. Hopefully, he can just answer them. Maybe it’ll feel nice, at that, talking to Sokka. Like Azula. This is his uncle. That feels surreal.

“You’re a firebender,” Sokka starts again. His eyes are clearer but his voice is still unsteady. “Katara must have . . . is Zuko —”

Kazou breathes out. “That’s my dad.”

“Katara and Zuko,” he repeats, “Katara and Zuko are alive. You’re . . .” he grows quiet. “You’re . . . Katara and Zuko’s son?”

The spell is broken so he reaches back to scratch at his neck. “Yeah, I, um, have a sister too.”

“Katara and Zuko are married?” Sokka’s eyes go wide and then they suddenly cross, a little less serious. “They must have run away because we all — wait, Katara and Zuko had —”

“They’re my parents!” Kaz yelps, just a little scandalized.

“They are married, right? They . . . Katara and Zuko are married and have kids and are alive. Zuko married Katara . . .”

He doesn’t really know what to interject into this process of realization. Sokka looks like he’s trying to verbalize his thought process, his eyes flitting to the side and tracing his nephew’s features. He remembers what Iroh said, the stories he told about Mom and Dad fighting. He supposes that Sokka only knew them when they were arguing, even if he and Dad were friends for a little while. And he just learned that his sister is alive and married the guy they used to fight. Kaz would be pretty confused if Zuya disappeared for several decades and then came back with a few kids and an earthbender husband. Not that he wants her to have . . . he shudders. She’s staying away from any sort of romance.

“What’s your real name?”

“Kaz,” he says, trying to say it in his mom’s sharp accent. He’s treading shallow water here. Sokka knows that he’s Azula’s nephew and knows that there is a new prince on the Fire Nation throne who has a name softer than his. If this doesn’t work he’ll have to run. Or maybe he won’t because then he’d feel guilty. Should he run? It doesn’t matter because Sokka takes that up in stride. 

“Kaz,” he repeats, and now he’s smiling. “Katara is alive. Zuko is alive. And they have children. And they’re alive.”

His lips are wide open, his teeth visible from where he’s just elevated below Kaz, and he doesn’t know what to expect next. Not a hug, that’s for certain. But he’s being swept up in strong arms, almost carried up in the air because Sokka is still taller than him. He hasn’t been hugged in the longest time and that contact feels nice. 

When he’s placed back on the ground Sokka doesn’t let him go. Something wet falls onto his shoulder. “They’re alive,” he shudders. “Where — where are they? They’re not here, right? Why are you here?”

And now it’s time to put his small plan into place. “We live in the Earth Kingdom but they sent me here over the summer. To spend time with my aunt. Ty Lee?”

He can’t see his uncle’s face but his grip doesn’t change. “The circus girl? I thought she’d defected that day on . . . they must trust her, then.”

His confidence is back. “She found them one day and then they came back. I’m staying with her to practice my bending.”

“Yeah, she’s noble,” Sokka mumbles, and Kaz can’t quite believe his luck at this moment. Then the man pulls away, puts his hands on his shoulders like he’s taking in a work of art. “I thought she was dead . . . all this time. And that completely . . .”

“She’s alive,” Kaz repeats, not sure what else to say.

“Yeah,” Sokka turns his head to stare at the moon again, closes his eyes for a minute, and Kazou stands there uncomfortably. “You have a sister? Is she a waterbender?”

“No, she can’t bend. Her name is Zuya. She’s with them right now.”

“Katara and Zuko’s children,” he whispers weakly one last time before he straightens. “Where are you from, in the Earth Kingdom? I have to . . . I have to do this but when you go back I’ll go with you. I need to see . . .” he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “This isn’t real. But you look like her. You look like her and Zuko. And you sound like Zuko. And that mask . . . it’s too much.”

He didn’t really plan for this. “Yeah, um, we live in Ba Sing Se. When I go back you can come with me.”

He’ll go back eventually. He misses his parents. And maybe that’ll be in a month or two, if Azula lets him. He can say it’s for military good or something. He’ll have to be promoted to a general eventually anyway because he isn’t going to inherit anything during her lifetime. That will make sense. So he can talk to her and he can take Sokka with him and he can reunite part of his family. Maybe then they won't be disappointed in him.

“Okay, that’s — that’s good,” he breathes. Then Sokka raises an eyebrow almost apologetically. “Do you have anything? That they . . . I believe you, I just . . .”

He doesn’t carry around much with him and that would be easy to explain away, but he finds himself reaching through the folds of his black outfit and taking out the one reminder of his family he carries everywhere. Maybe it’s bigger than what he thinks it is, but Iroh had told him this tile should be with his family. He thinks that maybe he can prove himself like this. 

Kaz opens his palm and displays the lotus tile, hopes that Sokka knows what it means even if he doesn’t. He wants to be clear about who he is. His mother’s child. 

Sokka grabs it and turns it up to the moonlight. “The Order of the White Lotus,” he says wondrously. “And they gave it to you.”

“What’s that?”

Sokka winks and turns out his pocket, displays something identical. It’s a small Pai Sho tile, a piece of wood. “The Order of the White Lotus . . . it’s a group of masters all over the world who maintain balance in the world. Most of them died after they liberated Ba Sing Se. My predecessor . . . he died too,” he says sadly. “Do you know General Iroh? I’m sure your father must have told you about him.”

I visit him almost every day. “Yeah. He’s my great-uncle.”

“I guess I’m related to him too, now. He’s a member of the order and he’s been sitting in the prison here for a long time. But two weeks ago I got a message and was told that he wanted me to free him. I hadn’t even known he was alive.”

How does he respond to that? “He’s alive?” he blusters.

“Yes,” Sokka says, and then his eyes shine. “This must be — there’s a reason for all of this, Kaz. Everything is falling into place. There’s a reason why I met you and . . . why are you running around and wearing a mask? The palace must be after you.”

“I told you. A friend needed help.”

“Yeah, sure,” he laughs. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re not perfect but you’re good with your swords and your father must have taught you how to bend and I think . . . I think you’re meant to be here. To do this.”

“You’re going to . . . . free my great-uncle?”

And so Iroh wasn’t letting him let him go, waiting for Sokka instead? That sort of hurts. He’s perfectly capable. But he hides that amongst his features, letting out the measured half-smile he’s so good at as Sokka gesticulates, hands waving. “Yes, in a few days . . . and you must come with me. You should meet him. And then when he goes free and we go back to Shu Jing you can come with me and we can go to Ba Sing Se. It will be —” he coughs and his face is red. “Perfect.”

That seems like such an ideal plan that he can’t say no. What could he argue with? Hey, sorry, I ran away from home to be the Fire Nation’s Crown Prince. You think Azula’s crazy but she’s the aunt I’m with. Why are you being so gullible? Mom’s alive and Dad’s alive but they probably hate me. I visit Iroh and he’s going to give me away. But you’re right, I want to free him. And I guess I can do it with you and then go back to the palace. Iroh will be able to find Mom and Dad. You all can be back together again. I don’t think I have a place in your story even though I miss them. Not yet. Not with all that I’ve done.

Sokka nods again at this plan and Kazou shuffles. “Uh, yeah. Great. I can meet . . . General Iroh. What are you going to do? Isn’t the — where is he?”

“The Caldera’s main prison. And I have a plan — there aren’t very many guards posted down there because they don’t think that there is anyone left to get him. They don’t know about us,” he winks like they’re sharing a very large secret. “A few he has made friends with and he said the rest will not mind very much. They will say that he died in his sleep.”

You’re very trusting. Because yeah, Sokka is assuming a lot about him from his face. Even if it’s to his advantage. I could report you for treason, he wants to say, but that’s probably uncharacteristic of the person he’s attempting to be. “Okay. I guess I’ll help,” he says, before noticing that the sky is turning blue again. “But I should go back home now. Aunt — Ty will be worried,” he claims, even though Azula probably won’t mind. Except his bending practice is suffering without sleep. He thinks she wants him to start with lightning soon.

“Yes. of course,” and he’s given another quick squeeze. “Katara is alive . . . thank you, Kaz.”

Instead of going through his usual route, through the kitchens, he aims to come in from his room this time. The kitchen staff starts working very early in the morning, and even as everyone else will only be waking up right now he doesn’t want to be caught.

The sun shining on his back is almost frighteningly warm — a sign that he’s definitely back too late. Someone will be here with his morning tea soon and hopefully, that will wake him up. He only got a few hours of sleep before he went off to see Sokka and it’s visible on his face. Some potent jasmine might do the trick. 

Kaz is sort of lost in a daydream about ledgers and counting boxes of tealeaves on countertops right outside of his room, his hood still pulled carefully around his face. He’s almost next to his window when the earth starts rumbling and he falls down, his back pressed against the dirt and his eyes staring up through the black fabric at the red and gold trim that lines his rooms. 

His head starts pounding and his vision is blurry; he barely has time to raise his sword, on his side, and deflect the ball of dirt coming right at him.

Chapter Text

Katara tugs at the gold-plated door handle one more time and then reaches away, dusting her hands off and turning her face toward Zuko, standing slightly hidden in the corner. They’ve been here for several minutes. “This is a waste of time.”

“Maybe Eun didn’t know he was dead,” Zuko replies, clutching onto Zuya.

“Well, yes, but . . .” she stares at the swinging knob. “I don’t know. I feel like there’s something here. And he had that old butler . . .”

Right before she finishes the sentence the door starts opening slowly, giving her enough time to lean back and not get caught up in its swing. The Fire Nation emblem is on the wood, same as it was all those years ago when Sokka had come here and molded his space-sword with Piandao. All the memories flood back, his crooked smile and terrible jokes and how much they’d missed him. She’s not going to cry. She’s not.

She’s able to see a head of white hair and a man clutching onto a cane. For a second she wonders if Piandao truly is alive — if they’d somehow mistaken his body for someone else’s — but that thought is soon forgotten when she’s able to make out the man’s dry features. 

“The master is not here,” he creaks, coughing a little. The door looks like it hasn’t been open in a long time — dust is clouding up. “You must come back for training some other time.”

She looks over one last time to where Zuko and Zuya are hidden in the newly grown brush. “I don’t want to train. I was told to come here.”

His bleary eyes look up. “Wait — you are that water tribe girl —”

“Yes,” she says impatiently. “Is Piandao —”

Suddenly he’s straightened and is looking at her strangely, his mouth open and then suddenly gasping. His features were pulled and old the last time she saw him; now he is truly a relic, with crinkly skin and spotted features. “But you are dead.”

He sounds like he’s almost happy about that statement and she tilts her head, seeing Zuko quizzical in the corner of her eye. “No, I’m very much alive. And I was told to come here —”

“But the master says his sister is dead,” he repeats. What was his name? Pat? Fat? Probably the latter.

And then those words hit her and she doesn’t think before speaking. “Did Piandao have a sister?”

“Master Piandao? Oh, no. He is gone,” Fat says mournfully. “But you are the sister of Master Sokka.”

The first thing she does is lurch up to grab her necklace. It’s all she has from her old family, a reminder of her parents and Sokka growing up in their little ice igloo. She tries not to think about him or her parents because every thought of them hurts. She and Zuko have discussed their families a bit over the past few weeks but before this life detour she hadn’t said his name aloud for years. Now she breathes it croakily. “Sokka?”

“Yes, your brother Sokka. Master Sokka. He is . . . oh, you do not know,” he tapers off, and Zuko takes that minute to run out of the bushes, dragging Zuya with him. She’s wide-eyed and confused, not that she can be blamed for it.

“Fat,” Zuko introduces quickly, and the butler does a double-take.

“Prince Zuko. You, Katara, And . . .” his eyes move down to Zuya. “The master thinks you are dead. Prince Zuko, you died on the day of Sozin’s Comet.”

Katara’s eyes are brimming with tears. Master Sokka. Is the universe playing a cruel joke on her? Is Fat? She doesn’t know why he would but the thought of this small amount of hope in her heart fizzling out is damning. Suddenly Zuya is next to her and clutching her arm and she’s realized that she’s fallen to her feet while Zuko is clutching Fat’s shoulder. “What . . . ?”

“My parents aren’t dead,” Zuya speaks up, almost affronted, and Zuko lets out a weak chuckle and grasps Fat’s cane to support him.

“I think . . . we need to talk.”

“We don’t have a tile.”

“I cannot . . . it is not my place, to tell you information. I should not.”

“Please, Fat,” Zuko begs. “You know it’s me and you know that it’s my wife — you know Katara like you know Sokka and we need to get to the Caldera.”

Katara has let him take up the reins for this one; she’s laying on the low couch with her hands on her face, Zuya running a comforting hand around the pressure points of her back. She hates that she needs to be comforted by her daughter but she also doesn’t really have any emotional strength right now. Zuko reaches down to grasp her.

“That scar,” he sighs, heavily. “Yes, I will always know. What was your struggle when you were trained by your master, Prince Zuko?”

Zuko waits a heartbeat, his hair falling into his face. “My name,” he says quietly. “I was . . . my calligraphy wasn’t representative of myself. I wrote it like I was told to, not as I should have.”

“Good,” he folds his hands across himself, staying silent. Katara breaks it.

“Where’s Sokka?”

“The master is in the Caldera. There have been many changes in the nation over the past few months.” His intonation is deep and foreboding and Katara finds herself afraid. Zuya runs her hand over her shoulders, her fingers skimming her mother’s tense muscles.

She can’t bother with wondering why Sokka is in the Caldera. All she can comprehend is that he’s alive . . . Suki? Toph? She doesn’t know about them but Sokka is alive. Her brother is alive. She’s repressed her emotions about losing him for the longest time but he’s alive. She can tell, looking around Piandao’s former halls. Part of the decor is blue and there are water tribe warrior masks on the walls. Not necessarily Sokka, but this looks like . . . Sokka. 

She’s crying out emotions she didn’t know she had. Sokka is alive. Her brother and best and only friend, her blood and probably one of the most important people in her life . . . he’s alive. Her mind feels like it’s exploding.

Zuko’s breath catches. “Our son. He . . . have you heard anything about him?”

“Zuko!”

“We need to . . . his name is Kazou.”

Fat’s eyes crinkle. “There is the Crown Prince Kazou. The new prince. Is he . . .”

That’s the very minute Katara’s head starts spinning like it’s on an axis, even further. Crown Prince Kazou. That used to be Zuko’s title, she thinks. Azula hasn’t killed her son. She hasn’t betrayed him or hurt him or anything like that. She gave him a crown. 

Her son stomps and shouts when he’s mad. He likes eating dumplings with too much custard in them and he helps out around the shop. He enjoys writing in his little notes in his journal and practicing with his dad’s swords and asking too many questions. He’s — he’s fifteen now, she realizes in the midst of all this. They missed their son’s fifteenth birthday.

When Zuko was fifteen, sixteen, he took back his crown even though he’d known he shouldn’t have purely because of his want for his honor — which he later realized was just his futile yearning for his father’s love. And isn’t it ironic that Kaz has his father’s love, and hers, and all of it, and is throwing it away for something like honor? Pride. Maybe pride, yes. He always was a proud child. He didn’t like being treated like he was a kid and he was angry and bitter about hiding his bending.

More than anything what she’s started to realize is that she and Zuko have been lying to themselves about Kaz for a long time. They wanted him to just be a regular child; they thought that would be enough for him like it never was for them. But they never factored in want for the unknown into their dreams about a better life. When she was fourteen she ran away from the South Pole to aid the Avatar with his destiny. Of course Kazou would want to run away — because like her, unlike Zuko, he might not have seen it as leaving a home. He might have seen the hand Azula probably reached out to him with as a beginning.

And the only person she can blame is herself. She would have done this. She did this. She wanted to learn how to bend so she went to the North Pole. Kaz wanted to learn how to bend and maybe Azula manipulated him but he went with her. That confuses her more because in the darkest corner of her heart, the part which is still lying, she knows that they both know that it might not have all been manipulation. That shoots through her like one of the swords lining Sokka’s halls. Kaz wasn’t just manipulated. He chose to leave us. He told Zuko he was weak.

That side of him, the side that had deflected her attack on Azula after she’d tried to kill Zuya . . . that side has always been there. It’s a part of her too, the part which was a little enthralled with bloodbending — it’s a section of Zuko, in how his features sometimes mirror his father. They’ve had the opportunity to grow from their demons . . . Kaz hasn’t. She doesn’t know what’s going on here but she’s afraid of what she’s going to hear. Because there’s a large possibility he’s given into those spirits.

Zuko’s warm hand is clenching at her shoulder and when she glances up it’s like he’s telling her to still have some hope. In his eyes she sees her son stuck on the ground and turning icicle spikes into steam. But she nods slightly to him and comes back to the light, turning Zuya away from Fat and smothering her into her shirt.

“Please, what have you heard of him?” he asks.

“The Crown Prince . . . rumors are he is closed off and a lot like the Fire Lord. But they say that he is more aware but also more uncaring. I don’t know, truly,” he frowns. “I hear little outside of here because Master Sokka doesn’t like to know of the Caldera. But talk in the streets is that he is favored by the Fire Lord and doesn’t enjoy making public appearances.”

“Kaz isn’t uncaring,” Zuya groans, and Katara wishes she didn’t have to hear this. “He might have too many feelings. He feels a lot. Aunt Ty says his aura is always —”

Her voice is almost high like she’s compensating, so Katara clutches her tighter. Fat looks at the little girl sadly.

“He supports the Fire Lord’s bid for war which people are unhappy about. But I also heard today in the morning that the crown is instating fixed prices for goods. It could be his influence,” he tacks on at the end as if to distract them from the first part of his sentence. Yes, he looks guilty. 

Katara’s eyes widen again and she tightens her grip on Zuko’s hand. He sits down and holds her tight. “A war?”

“You know the Fire Lord was gone for some time. But for a long time she’s been trying to start a war. She’s crazy, you know. And everyone knows it,” he finishes, zoning in on Zuko’s face.

Katara knows her husband incredibly well. He’s an extension of her at his worst. But the eye contact he’s making with the old man right now is something she can’t comprehend. Maybe that’s because all that’s ringing through her mind right now is war. Kaz wouldn’t support a war. Kaz wouldn’t support a war on — 

Kaz would support a war if that meant bringing down Ba Sing Se. Don’t you remember? He hated Ba Sing Se. He was bitter. He was a bitter child and he grew into a bitter teen and she didn’t try to stop it because she thought that was how he was. She didn’t plan for this possibility? How could she have thought he would run away . . . how could she have thought . . .

She’s a bad mother, she realizes now. She’s a bad mother and she stewed in ignorance because it made her feel safe. And Zuko is a bad father for the same reason and they endorse each other. And Kaz is . . . he’s a bad son. She feels terrible for thinking it but it’s true. They’re all terrible and they didn’t have an open line of communication and she . . . she needs to fix this.

Chapter Text

“You’re an earthbender.”

Rini swallows and sinks against the ground. “I thought you were . . . I’m not.”

Kaz just reaches down and puts his sword away, picking up a stone that’d fallen off the ball of earth she’d thrown at him. “Yeah,” he deadpans, “you’re not.”

He should be mad. He dislikes earthbenders like he dislikes the Earth Kingdom; not only did they terrorize his thoughts growing up, they also imprisoned his parents and betrayed Azula. There’s really nothing good about earthbenders. But she looks scared of him and he hates that as he realizes his tone probably sounds cross. “Not that . . .” he questions as she stares at him, mouth wide. “How?”

She doesn’t answer his question, her eyes searing into his face. His hood had blown itself off when he’d fallen down and now his features are obvious. “I thought you were going to try to attack —” she says quietly. “I thought you were going to try to kill you.”

The sun is higher overhead and he can feel it shining down on his face and giving him power. She’s an earthbender in the Fire Nation, working in the palace, and that’s not allowed. Benders aren’t supposed to work in the palace — fire benders aren’t allowed to, forget those of other elements. She seems remorseful but he crassly blurts out the first thing that comes to mind anyway. “Are you a spy?”

She looks Earth Kingdom, he’s slowly realizing. Her eyes are bright green and her hair is relatively light, although she’s still paler than him. Not completely like the refugees of Ba Sing Se but not exactly Fire Nation. He doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before, considering he’s been talking to her like this for a week.

“No! Of course not. I wouldn’t do that.”

His mind kicks back to analyze what she’d said before — that she’d thought he was sneaking in to kill himself. Yeah, that makes sense. He guesses that if a black-clothed stranger tried to sneak into a room in the palace he’d be curious too. And he guesses that she’s been trying to hide her bending and it just came out. She doesn’t look proud or nefarious, right now. Just worried and — scared. He doesn’t like that and he puts aside the image of getting pelted by dirt in the Upper Ring to slowly get up and dust off his clothes. His spine still feels like it’s vibrating.

Kaz should report her. But his heart stirs and he pulls his hood back up to hide his face before stepping forward. She winces as he moves and he feels guilty. 

“Let’s go in.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she says weakly. Rini looks so different right now, her head down where it’s usually upright and glaring.

“You’re not a spy,” he repeats to himself, foregoing all propriety to curl his legs into his chest. The black robes are thrown to the side so now he’s just in pants and a rather comfortable tunic. She isn’t dressed in her maid’s outfit either. “Why are you here today?”

She shrugs. “I just wanted to see you. There was that other thing that happened near my house the other day and you were investigating it, right? And I was walking into your room and you were standing outside and —” her voice grows louder as she continues and that should scare him but it makes him feel more comfortable. “Why are you sneaking into your room in the morning wearing full black? Someone could hurt you.”

“Someone did,” he says uncomfortably, and she grimaces. He doesn’t know why he’s conflicted. “I should report you —”

“Kaz —”

“But I’m not going to,” he allows the thought to finish as he speaks aloud. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say until it left his mouth but that sounds right. “Why are you here? Are your parents Earth Kingdom?”

The question stings because it’s sort of obvious that at least one of them is. She shrugs. “I don’t know them. My mother . . .” she struggles. “She was a healer in the colonies and she found me alone when I was a small child. She found the woman who gave birth to me too. But she left me there because she said that I was a bastard child. That I was from the Fire Nation.” 

Her words sound strong but they’re quivering beneath and they make him think. “You’re half Fire Nation,” he says as he uncovers what that entails. Half Fire Nation. Like him. But he’s a firebender — he could have easily been in Rini’s situation, have turned out a waterbender. It’s a draw of the cards, that she ended up the way she is. And the way she is . . . an earthbender.

He remembers broken jugs of water cascading across the floor and loud footsteps and feels a little stupid. “And your mother brought you back here. To the Fire Nation.”

“I don’t want to be an earthbender. I’ve never wanted to be an earthbender. Everyone in the Fire Nation hates earthbenders,” she whispers hatefully and it feels all too familiar. 

When he was younger and Aunt Ty used to block his bending he used to stay up at night and cry a little. The blocking didn’t hurt but it made it feel like a part of him was gone — like he didn’t have his arms or legs anymore, like something vital to his being was removed. And when he grew older and it became clear that Zuya couldn’t bend he’d been so bitter. He was jealous of her, even if Dad told him that he had power as a firebender. Zuya would never be secretly ostracized like he would. She got the benefits of Aunt Ty, got to learn how to block chi. She used to practice on him. And he groaned but made it through. He eventually learnt to hide his grimaces because they made everyone around him feel guilty.

Now he doesn’t hate who he is. Azula showed him power and he’s grasped it and now he’s strong. But for the longest time, he’d begged the spirits at night to show up and make him a waterbender or a nonbender so he didn’t have to deal with this. He hasn’t thought about those lonely nights in a while because he’s disassociated himself from them. The pain that had been behind the cries he’d muffled into his pillows is there a bit underneath her words.

I don’t want to be a firebender. Everyone in Ba Sing Se hates firebenders. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“You’re anti-Earth-Kingdom, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The stuff about Ba Sing Se and you’re . . . well, you’re royal. You’re probably — I shouldn’t say it. I should leave.”

Rini draws herself up and he holds out a hand to stop her before realizing that’s patronizing and putting it down. “No. You know I’m not . . . I’m not fully Fire Nation,” he admits. “I’m half Southern Water Tribe.”

She stops and tilts her head at him, crossing her hands uncomfortably over her chest. “Really?”

He thinks about how Sokka saw his mother in his face. He’s proud of that part of him too. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I’ve never seen anyone from a water tribe.”

“Well. My father was Fire Nation and my mother was a waterbender. And I guess I’m a bastard too,” he creaks out before realizing the exact implications of that. And now he’s realizing that he feels guilty because he’s lucky. She was abandoned just because she was a mixed child.

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” she says uncharacteristically dryly. “Your parents were probably in love, whoever they were. My birth parents didn’t like each other.”

Kaz wonders how she says that so firmly. “I’m sorry.”

Her expression is indecipherable. “I should go. Thanks for not reporting me. I’ll quit.”

“You don’t have to quit.”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” she raises an eyebrow. “Benders aren’t supposed to be here.”

“But . . .” she’s right. And he wants to attack the Earth Kingdom and Ba Sing Se. He definitely doesn’t want an earthbender in his house. And in his rooms. “I won’t tell anyone. You can stay.”

She’s already almost out the door. “I can’t ask that of you, Prince —”

“Don’t call me that.” He doesn’t want her to leave. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t want her to leave but he’s scared that if she leaves she won’t come back. And he doesn’t know why he’s so afraid of her not coming back. He hasn’t known her very long, maybe a week — and for days of that she hadn’t even spoken to him. He shouldn’t care about a random servant girl he’s had a few conversations with.

He’s really weak. And terrible. Because he thinks that, new as this strange kinship is, Rini might be the first friend he’s ever had. He doesn’t want to lose that because of his race. Nobody used to talk to him in the Lower Ring because of his race. “Nothing has to change. It’s not fair to you.” It’s not fair to me. This is new and I’m selfish.

“Everything’s changed and that’s only fair. I’ve been hiding for a long time,” she scoffs the ground. She’s wearing a red dress today, long and floaty, definitely not regular wear. He wonders if she made it herself. “If it wasn’t for my mother I’d go to the Earth Kingdom. Maybe I could get a teacher,” she laughs to herself, facing away from him. “So I don’t keep breaking random things and accidentally trying to kill fake assassins.”

“Thank you,” he says belatedly. “If I actually was about to get murdered I would’ve — you would’ve saved my life.”

That’s a juxtaposition to how he’d broken his arm those months ago. “You’re welcome,” she pauses. “Thanks, I guess. For being nice. Most of the time.”

“You really don’t need to leave. I swear I won’t tell anyone —”

She shakes her head. “I need to leave. I can’t control it. And I’ve been lying to myself and thinking that I can but I can’t. I need a teacher.”

“I’ll get you a teacher.”

He can’t see her face but she scoffs. “There aren’t any earthbenders here. Everyone here hates earthbenders,” she repeats.

“I’ll teach you.”

That makes her turn around. His face feels more open than it usually is. “You’re a firebender.”

“My mom and my dad learnt bending from each other. I can help you. With control and meditation and stuff, at least,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve seen earthbenders before. I can help. And that way you won’t leave.”

This is ridiculous. He doesn’t know what he’s proposing. He doesn’t know why — he certainly doesn’t have time for this, on top of his late-night excursions and his plan with Sokka and the bending practice he’s started to fall back on. Not to mention his actual duties as a prince.

“Really? Would that work?” 

She sounds hopeful. 

“We can try.”

“Why are you here?”

Azula raises her eyes and takes in his sitting room. He still hasn’t gotten it cleaned from the morning so the cushions are astray, but at least there aren’t dirty dishes on the table. “I wanted to see how your investigation was coming along.”

“I have soldiers all around the parts —”

“If you want something done right you have to do it yourself,” she intonates carefully as she sits down, her eyes hazy. “Or have someone you trust do it.”

“I thought you don’t trust people.”

“I don’t,” she replies, twisting her back so that she’s lying down. It takes him a second to realize that she’s slightly relaxed. Is this her trying to tell him something? “I’m not feeling well, Kaz. You’ll be standing in for me tonight. Asa will get you the details. Get ready.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you have to get ready.” 

Chapter Text

He sucks in his stomach and feels incredibly self-conscious as he attempts to make his voice sound slightly deeper than it actually is. It’s changed in the past couple of months but it’s still young. “I’ll be taking the place of the Fire Lord today.”

Everyone in the hall seems to freeze up. They’re all the regular array of nobles and lords, likely trying to curry favor with Azula. But today they get him. Kaz is decently sure that some of them are going to leave when they realize that he can’t promote them or give them accolades, and he sort of wants them to. The less people here the better. 

But after a second the room returns to its previous low hum and nobody moves back through the door in the corner. He gulps and sits back down at the head of the table. Usually, when he comes to state dinners he’s to Azula’s right and just listens in on her conversations — mostly tunes out, actually. Actually having to hold those conversations? 

He’s sure she’s never been sick in her life before, but of course, she chooses today — the day after he finds out that his uncle is alive and that his only friend is an earthbender — to make him do this too. He wants to sleep. Or burn something. No, not burn something. He’s tired. He wants a hug and Mom’s stew. He doesn’t want to do this. Her seriously thought all of these people would leave when they realized they weren’t going to accomplish anything by talking to Azula’s fifteen-year-old heir.

Luckily, the scowl on his face seems to be off-putting enough for now. He darkens his gaze and attempts to seem like he’s observing everyone meticulously as he hides a yawn and picks at his robes under the table. They’re more elaborate than usual and he had refused to put them on until Ryozo had yelled at him to. The shoulders are pointier and even less practical and his hair has extra gel in it. His aide is always complaining about how it’s too short and smothering his scalp with oil is the only viable way to ensure that the three-pronged crown doesn’t fall off his head.

He feels like an imposter, not comfortable at all here. He’s the youngest person in this room and a mystery and Azula’s always been there as a sort of shield between him and everyone else in the palace.

The first ten minutes are spent with his eyes narrowed and then some sort of soup is placed in front of him. He has to start eating first and the minute he takes a sip voices start pounding into his ear. With a glance, he realizes that Nen is to his side, in his usual spot. He doesn’t hide the contempt he has for the man when he glares over, but the old lord just wryly smiles around his spoon. “I trust you have been keeping well, Prince.”

Kaz doesn’t answer that, just finagles himself until he’s facing Governor Shen, one of Azula’s allies. He was the one that he’d first presented his initial plan for grain subsidies to, and he is not . . . pleasant, necessarily, but he seems much more honest than Nen does and is easier to talk to. Even though all that probably means is that he’s hiding his true colors. Everyone in this palace is corrupt.

“How have your veteran integration plans been going, Governor? I have heard that you’ve been meeting some resistance,” he pulls from his mind. He’s been spending an awful amount of time in the royal archives lately. Most of what he reads goes right through his brain but sometimes he skims over random reports for situations like these. Sometimes he is able to plan ahead.

“The fishing colony . . .” Shen starts, seeming excited to be speaking at all, and Kaz tunes him out even as he attempts to look interested and wanders his eyes down the rest of the table. He can still feel Nen intently staring at him and that sends shudders up his spine he tries to ignore, nodding along to a tale about taxes. 

After a few minutes he blearily realizes he might be showing favoritism right now and cuts Shen off. One of the other generals whose name he can’t remember starts talking immediately, almost bright-eyed.

Kazou is almost certain the man’s about to blast off some request for funding for his small and useless military sect occupying a poor village, but he seems to decide to pander instead. “You look very well today, Prince Kazou.”

He almost blushes but then remembers his eyebags and digs his pointy shoes into the ground. “Don’t lie,” he snaps. “It isn’t becoming.” He’s sort of proud of that one. That’s something Azula would say. And it works well enough, because the general sits back down with a frown on his face. 

The woman next to him jabs him in the ribs before smiling up at him through her eyelashes. She looks much older than him. “I was wanting to ask the Fire Lord about a new uniform for . . .”

“I’ve heard rumors of this plan and it would be absolutely ridiculous for us farmers, Prince —”

“Don’t lie, you’re not farmers. I have no interest vested in ensuring your support, so take your complaints elsewhere,” he interrupts, tapping the table underneath him to ensure that he doesn’t slip up on his pacing or pronunciation. Any sign of weakness here will be like blood in water.

“I will withdraw support of —”

It feels nice to be fully allowed to interrupt others, especially considering that he’s probably ages younger than these men and women. “Ridiculous,” he scoffs. “We don’t have your support anyway. Feel free to leave, Mao.”

Kaz is also starting to understand the purpose of these robes. They flow behind him and remind him to keep his posture straight as he walks away, only to be interrupted by a hand on his shoulder that he roughly shakes off. He turns around and faces Lady Nansumi with his lips twisted. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m sorry, Prince Kazou,” she pulls back astutely. “Please do not let Mao and the others get in the way. I will accept the taxation, I just simply . . .”

“Get to the point.”

“You have heard what had happened to the merchant Jiro. He and I are in similar markets and I would humbly request the crown offer me some sort of protection.” The words sound practiced.

“I have a formal investigation going on into the source of these accidents, Lady. I do not have the time or energy to spare to give aid to every grain merchant in the Caldera. Don’t you have your own personal guard?”

“I do, but —”

“There’s no but. Your exploitation has — has surely had you make enough profit to protect yourself from a v—vigilante. Jiro’s guards were unaware that someone was inside of his house until his study was lit on fire. Are your guards that incompetent?”

“No, but —”

He turns away and takes in a deep breath, facing the wall for a second and hoping that the movement faked its way out into a proper turn. When he spins around he sees Nen out of the corner of his eye and inwardly groans, only to run into the young general from earlier and the woman next to him. “What do you want?” he asks brusquely.   

The woman looks him in the eye and elbows the man again, who stands to attention. He wonders if they’re siblings; it seems likely, with their similar features and straight haircuts. A quick glance down tells him enough; their hands are smooth and unscarred so they’re not true soldiers. 

They both stand still for a minute before the woman jumps into speech. “Do you agree with the Fire Lord’s stance on re-establishing complete hold on the colonies?”

“Yes,” he says tightly. “This is relevant, uh, why?”

Funnily enough, speaking to someone who probably has something like ten years on him is harder than facing down the elder members of the court. They both accept his answer stalwartly but he can see the man’s eyes twitch imperceptibly in something like malice. So they don’t agree with the Fire Lord’s stance on re-establishing hold of the colonies. “Who are you two?”

“Irrelevant,” the man smiles brightly and yet also like he’s disappointed. Kaz can’t tell why exactly that would be the case. “Our uncle is the Boiling Rock’s Warden. Let us know if you’d ever want to visit.”

The tone, candid as it is, is almost refreshing to hear. Azula wouldn’t stand for it. “It’s not in any of my future itineraries, but oh well,” he snarks. They turn down their heads at him and slowly walk away. He makes the mistake of watching them and that puts Nen in his line of sight. 

“Hello, Prince Kazou. Are you ignoring me tonight?”

“What do you want, Nen?”

“This old man is simply curious as to why someone as young as yourself seems to detest me so much. I have been a close ally of the Fire Lord and I simply do not recall General Iroh being so classless. Have you heard of him since our last conversation, Prince?”

This seems like a mockery of Iroh. “I don’t make it a habit to stay around traitors to the Fire Nation,” he says strongly and yet guiltily. Nen smiles at that, his light mustache curving up. 

“I am glad to hear this, Prince. It is good to see you making good decisions. And tell me, what are you currently doing? I see you have two little projects under your wing.”

Kaz stays silent, moving his hands under the fabric of his robes to twiddle with the silk and hoping that goes unnoticed. “There is unrest with the people, right now. They feel unsafe. It would do you well to find whoever is responsible.”

“That is my task, not yours,” he grumbles. 

Nen smiles. “And I hope the Fire Lord is doing fine. I hope she is of sound body, at least. That is enough to ask for.”

That’s rather suspicious. “You will treat the Fire Lord with respect.”

“But I always do, Prince Kazou. I have been in this palace for a long time.”

And if you’re here when I am I am going to kick out your successors as well, screw your factories. “Congratulations. I hope you continue to stay in good health. It would be terrible if that were to change,” he drawls unthinkingly before backtracking and realizing that could probably be perceived as a threat. Which was not his intention. After Jiro he’s not going to hurt anyone, even if Nen probably deserves it, if anyone.

“I have the Fire Lord’s favor.”

“As do I. How is your production going, Lord Nen? I trust your factories are fine.”

The portly man reaches out and grabs a glass of some sort of wine from a tray to the side. Kaz doesn’t drink alcohol and he probably won’t — Azula doesn’t, either. She dislikes not having complete control over her body. “Yes, fine.”

Kaz knows he’s hit a nerve there. “Not like previous years, no?” Then something comes to his mind. “I wonder where you’re making budget cuts.”

“I am managing.” Is something tinging those words? Now he wants to keep going until he hits success. Nen’s skin is growing redder, stuck with age as it is, but he can’t tell if that’s because of the glass of alcohol he’s just completely imbibed or something else. 

“I’m positive you are. I’ll look into some of our pre-war legislation on nonbender rights and payment in factories.”

Nen swallows. “You don’t have to do that, Prince.”

“I insist. It is only my place as a loyal citizen of the Fire Nation.”

A bell rings to mark the next hour and Kaz takes that as an invitation to turn away from Nen and start heading back to his rooms. He’s tired. 

Chapter Text

Nothing is hurting, necessarily. Her head feels fine but she doesn’t have the willpower to get up. At least nobody else can see her here but Kaz, who’d gone back to his room with her maidservant and his to get ready for his nearing impromptu appearance minutes after she’d plummeted onto his cushions. She thinks she’d fallen asleep after then.

And now that she’s woken up and feels slightly better, if a bit conflicted. She should have regrets about what she’d said earlier to him, essentially telling him that she trusted him. She doesn’t trust anyone . . . she trusted Mai And Ty Lee and her father. Trust is terrible and Kaz is definitely hiding a lot from her with his late-night excursions and tired eyes. She knows. She’s not stupid.

That all means Azula shouldn’t trust him, but he’s different. He’s like her; he’s trying to play games. She feels good about staying on top of him and ensuring that he isn’t going to kill himself. It’s not as though she entirely approves of the excursions to see Iroh or the way he’d almost killed that random merchant — he isn’t entirely like her and that’s okay. He’s still no Zuko. And if he hasn’t liberated Iroh yet he never will. And even if he does she doesn’t care very much. So what if the old man leaves? He’s just clogging up a prison cell and requiring guards at this point.

No, she doesn’t care about what he does at night or that strange mask he likes wearing. She’s fine with all of it as long as he doesn’t decide to leave. She wants him to be free, at least. That’s her rallying point. Here, Kaz can do whatever he wants and she won’t stop him. That’s why she’s better than his parents and that’s why this is his birthright. 

Azula supposes that she feels some responsibility for him too. Some sort of fondness. But pragmatically she . . . she doesn’t even need to keep him here. He should like it here. And even if he misses his parents . . . it’s fine. Let him miss them and let him go on little excursions to see them. Zuko doesn’t care about the throne so it’s fine. She’s not about to jeopardize this ally because she wants to kill her brother. He is simply not competition anymore like Iroh isn’t. The only person who does have any claim is . . . Kaz. And she doesn’t think he’ll try to take the throne from under her.

She raises her hands up. She’s alone and she has a free night — when she looks outside she can see the sun slipping down, meaning Kaz is probably currently in the middle of dinner. It’s been ages since she’s had time like this in her own palace. When she was in Ba Sing Se she spent her days training and attempting to read over Fire Nation protocol to stay on top of her country, and that was great but it wasn’t home. She can go on a walk through the empty gardens or perhaps — 

With a shake of her head she elevates herself, noticing the indentations in front of her, the marks of two people. Probably that servant girl Kaz has found himself fond of lately. And that’s fine as long as he doesn’t get too close to her. Something glints from one side of it and she reaches past the layers of red silk and cotton and embroidery to feel something hard and pearly. 

It’s a mask. She frowns — he should have known to keep it somewhere else. Anyone he invited into his rooms could come in and find it . . . although he’s probably not inviting in anyone and she’s the only person in the palace with the authority to walk in. It’s not excusable past that, though. He needs to make sure he covers his tracks better. Especially if he’s to be Fire Lord someday.

That settles into her throat and makes her want to choke. She knows that there are years, of course, until he’ll resume such a role. She has half a century ahead of her and he’ll be a general and soldier as he hits adulthood. But she also feels a strong urge to prepare him as fast as possible. He didn’t get her or Zuko’s intensive education, even if he’s a fast learner. Maybe that’s why she insisted on him taking her place tonight. Maybe . . .

But as stars and dots affect her vision and she rights herself she scowls. She’s not poisoned, certainly, but she doesn’t recall ever being slightly weak in the past. Perhaps she’s been overthinking or overworking or just . . . it’s probably overthinking. She’s always certain of herself but that confrontation with Ty Lee after all these years and attempting to manage the palace and court and her nephew is starting to get a bit much. Perhaps a walk in the courtyard wouldn’t be amiss, along with a trip back to bed.

Yes, that would be the proper thing to do . . . but instead she picks up the blue mask, fingering it, and looks toward the open door leading to his room. She can go to Kaz’s room and put it back. Hopefully he’ll have enough of a brain to figure out who moved it when he comes back.